


Knocking on My Heart

by SaroyanLyon



Category: Vis a Vis | Locked In (Spain TV)
Genre: F/F, Frenemies, Heist Wives, Slow Burn, Zurena, el oasis what, kind of like el oasis but more of my babies, not enough fics about these two
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24358081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaroyanLyon/pseuds/SaroyanLyon
Summary: One spring night Maca wakes up to a weird dream and a loud knock on her small flat. On the other side of the door is someone she wished she'd never see again.That day leads to feelings she cannot control, a criminal life she had thought was left-behind with a woman she once hated, and a family she didn't think she would ever find the chance to have.AKA Maca and Zulema being disastrous and claiming to hate each other while being soft and vulnerable. Lots of angst and fluff, balanced though.
Relationships: Macarena Ferreiro & Estefanía "Rizos" Kabila, Macarena Ferreiro & Saray Vergas, Macarena Ferreiro/Zulema Zahir, Zulema Zahir & Macarena Ferreiro, Zulema Zahir & Saray Vergas
Comments: 227
Kudos: 260





	1. Like a Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys this is my first time publishing here so I’m stressed. Watching El Oasis I wasn’t satisfied with how little we saw Zulema and how little Zurena action there was, and like nobody is anyway, so I decided to write it myself. I do not own Vis a Vis, its plot and its characters and any similarity or reference belongs to the owners. A quick heads up I’m a polyglot and English is not my native tongue so any mistake you see I apologize for that. I hope it’s not so bad that it annoys you :) This fic will include lots of angst and also lots of fluff so get ready. ps: there’s like an almost rape scene so beware of that when you’re reading, I promise it’s not explicit.

“Help me! Please somebody help!”

Panic. 

That’s what she felt in every part of her body. Panic. The scream was too clear to come from behind a wall, the girl’s voice too high-pitched to be her Fatima’s. Yet here she was, the elf from the fucking hell, frozen, feeling powerless.

_Get on your knees and beg Zulema!_

She shook her head to ignore the voice echoing in her brain, Sandoval’s face carved deep in her memories. She scrunched up her nose, clenching her teeth to stay calm. Her fingers caressed the tattoo under her eye absentmindedly, feeling the panic turn into psychotic anger. From afar one could say she looked calm, but not her, no. Zulema was far from calm. She was livid. 

She slowly walked towards the alley, concealed in the darkness. After a few steps, she could see the source of the commotion, two drunk men, one with his pants down, the other holding down a clearly drugged girl. She rolled up the sleeves of her black bomber jacket, rolling her neck to ease the tension. She took a cigarette from her inside-pocket, followed by the lighter. 

“Aye piglets! One moment please?”

The man holding the girl froze upon her call while the other man gave her a once-over. She took a puff of her cigarette. 

“Get loss bitch.”

She gave a small laugh and shrugged, toying with the cigarette between her fingers.

“See I would, but then I’m not feeling like taking an order from a man in his underwear. At all.”

It was quiet now, the men clearly annoyed and the girl desperately waiting for the stranger to save the day.

“You want some too bitch?”

She exhaled the smoke and dropped the cigarette on the ground, crushing it with her foot.

“Honestly, why not?”

“Yo what the fuck…” The man holding the girl exclaimed as he let go of her shoulders. Zulema signaled the girl to go with her head. The girl, already shaking with fear, ran away quickly without wasting another second. She watched the girl disappear around the corner, thinking back to a time she would watch her daughter like this from afar, her brown hair blowing in the wind as she ran after a puppy.

“Nice underwear,” she pointed with her finger to the man who was now standing with his pants pooled around his ankles. “Although your thing is very small.”

“You bitch,” said the man, grabbing her by the neck and pushing her against the wall. She felt her head collide with the wall and a new sense of familiarity clouded her. Deep down she knew she missed this, missed to be shaken up, to take a few punches, feel the blood trickle down her temple. Zulema opened her eyes to look at the drunk man, his spit landing on her face as he tightened his grip on her neck. 

“Let’s see what you’re gonna say about my thing once I’m done with you!”

Zulema laughed, truly laughed because she was going to enjoy this. Oh yes she was. She turned her head to the other man, the movement straining her neck. “You see, I like it rough too!” Without waiting for an answer from the bewildered man, she dropped the cold smile and threw her head forward with all the force she had. 

“Fuck!” screamed the man as his grip on her neck disappeared and he stumbled backward to hold his bleeding nose. She turned back to the other man, who now looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“What’s your name again?”

“Jo-Jose” stuttered the man. Zulema wondered for a second where had his tough man act gone to, but considering the last few minutes, she guessed she looked like an unhinged woman. Oh well not so wrong after all.

“Jose, good,” she walked closer to him, ignoring the man cursing on the ground. “I don’t like rapists Jose, not at all. So I broke your friend’s nose. But do you know who I hate as much as rapists? Huh?” she narrowed her eyes, as she held the man’s chin. 

“No?” hesitated the man. She pulled his face even closer, making sure he could look into her eyes. “I hate men who don’t stop rapists. Do you know what I did to the last person who let a girl get raped?” Jose shook his head as her nails dug deeper into his chin. “I fucking stabbed him,” Zulema said, sliding her hand down to the man’s torso, patting the area she had stabbed Hierro years ago. “Right here, two times.” Jose took a step back frightened and raised his hands. 

“Look man I don’t know you, really. I don’t know the girl either. I swear man I don’t even know her name!” She sucked her teeth and reached into her pocket, taking out the knife, it’s metal shining under the street light. She pointed it towards the already scared Jose, “And I know your name, Jose. Your point being?”

With each step Zulema felt like a predator, enjoying every step back her prey took. Her mind went to a time in the past, a time she did not want to think of, a time way back. If she weren’t so focused on how little Jose looked scared shitless and oh how she wished she could track down those men that touched her girl and make them as scared as this man was, she could have realized how the other man laying on the ground had stopped cursing. How he had stopped making a noise at all. The lack of sound would make her suspicious and she would leave Jose alone for a second to look at the man, catch him swinging a piece of wood in her way and move away so the man would stumble forward and she would laugh at his stupidity. Only if she wasn’t so clouded with the feelings of revenge, of pain and deep regret she couldn’t pinpoint.

The blow was meant to hurt and it hurt. Zulema remembered a distinct memory of a similar blow, a blow by a tray reeking of tortilla, a blow meaning to hurt her. She concluded that a humiliated man’s blow was as forceful as a revengeful mom. How ironic. 

She felt her body spin out of control, her mind slipping out of her hands. Her body collided with the cold wall, the same wall they had pinned the girl minutes ago. She could trace the cracks in the surface with her palm, but her hands were too numb to actually hold her up. She felt a warm sensation trickle down her neck, no doubt invisible in the darkness. The man pulled her hair from behind and threw her body on the ground like a rag doll. She quickly wondered if her hair was invisible in the dark too. An amusing thought came to her mind. What if they could only see her eyes. Like two colorful balls floating in the air. She laughed at the idea.

“What you laughing at bitch?”

Zulema raised her head from the ground to look up at the screaming man. With the blood oozing out of his obviously broken nose Zulema couldn’t help but be content with the blow she sent him a few minutes ago. She shook her head and smiled again, resting her head back on the ground. 

“You fucking psychopath,” screamed the man again, this time sending a nice kick on her way. She felt the pain radiate in her body the moment his foot came in contact with her ribs. Her body curled in a ball, betraying her mind’s command to not react. A moan escaped from her lips, the metallic taste exploding inside her mouth, filling her nose, suffocating her. Nice, she thought. I should’ve been in pain that day. It should have been me suffering. 

The man took a step back to kick her again, this time a loud crack echoing inside her brain. She welcomed the feeling of pain, the numbness expanding in her chest, relief coursing through her body. This pain she could feel, not like the pain she’s been feeling for so long. She realized she liked this pain more, preferred it even. She let her body go rigid on the pavement, no longer curled in a ball trying to protect herself, but flat on her back. 

The man took no time to sit on top of her, his fist colliding with her cheek. Then another one directed towards her chin, then another one and another and more she didn’t try to locate. Stars exploded in her vision, the man’s heavy breath and scream becoming distant. Her eyelids began to feel heavy and for a moment, she was okay with losing consciousness, the control she liked to hold. For a moment she was okay with dying in this alley. Then a voice filled her ears, bringing a tiny smile on her face. 

_Zule! You..._

Hearing Saray’s voice again, remembering the day in the prison yard and how Zulema had smiled at her friend, her sister, made her feel a warmth deep inside. “I won’t leave you alone again,” she had said to her, and Saray had chuckled whispering as she hugged her, “You better not cause I ain’t about to raise this kid without a family.”

She remembered how the baby, Estrella, had squirmed between them, remembered Hierro watching from afar, remembered looking for a certain blonde, wishing she would be there to annoy her, to say she had gone soft. 

_Maca._

The thought of the blonde made Zulema feel things she couldn’t explain. The idea of wrapping her hand around her neck, squeezing, hearing her moans vibrate against her skin because of the pressure, was always satisfactory. But some days Zulema couldn’t decide if it was strangling her that gave the pleasure, or was it just the idea of touching her, hearing her moans. She remembered how Maca had taken her to the graveyard, a few weeks ago, the look of worry she had thrown her way. 

“You know what, let’s see if my thing is small huh, bitch, got something to say? Not so confident now are you…”

The voice of the man in her ear brought her back to the dark alley, her vision no longer containing blonde hair and eyes full of concern. She moved her arm to reach for the knife a few centimeters away, her hand feeling the pavement for the sharp object. The man was fumbling with her pants, breathing heavily. As she felt the cold air of the night hit her no longer clothed legs, her fingers wrapped around the knife, its weight in her hands comforting. On instinct she plunged the knife deep inside the man’s leg, near his hip where she knew he wouldn’t recover easily. The man cursed loudly and dropped beside her, his weight finally lifting off of her body. Zulema took a deep breath and flinched when her right side burned. She heard Jose, who was watching without interfering on the side all along, run to the man.

“Shit, C’mon Mateo you’re bleeding we gotta go!”

“Fuck man I’m gonna kill that bitch!”

“Bitch is insane, you got her good anyway let’s go before you bleed to death, fuck!”

Zulema listened to what seemed to be Jose dragging a limping Mateo who had trouble standing on his own. As the voices slowly disappeared, she took a deep breath, ignoring the continuous burning on her side and laughed. Her voice was tinted with pain and a joy no one could be able to describe. A lone tear escaped her eye, trickling down and mixing with the blood on her face.

…

Macarena woke up with a start.

Someone was banging on her door in the middle of the night and by the sound of it they weren't thinking about stopping any time soon. For a second she felt like she was back in Cruz del Sur, Valbuena banging on the cell door to wake them up in the middle of the night. She shook her head to clear her mind, her eyes tracing the soft fabric of her mattress. Nothing was soft back in prison, she reminded herself. As the knocking continued she hastily got out of her bed, scared the commotion would wake some nosey neighbors up. She didn’t have a single guess who could be banging on her door in the middle of the night. She didn’t have friends, it was years since she last talked with Roman and nobody knew where she lived. 

As she reached the door and peeped from the door hole she couldn’t see anything but darkness. She cursed the apartment manager for not fixing the lamps.

“Who’s it?” she asked, her suspicion a habit from a not so old life where there had been assassins and murderers on her tail.

“Open the door Maca.”

The voice was enough to freeze her on spot. But her mind was processing the situation and after spending years together she knew how to understand when there was a pain in that voice. She opened the door with an agility she didn’t know she possessed and years of prison experience could have not prepared her for the sight, Zulema slumped on her doorstep, bleeding. 

“Zulema what the fuck!”

Macarena felt her breath quicken, the scene in front of her too much to handle. Zulema looked weak and slumped next to her door in a small pool of blood, her head leaning against the door frame. Macarena quickly kneeled down and held her head to check if her eyes were open. Zulema hissed and raised her hand to hold Macarena’s that rested on her cheek, the blood on her fingers painting Macarena’s porcelain skin.

“What happened?”

“Rough date.”

“What?”

Macarena straightened Zulema’s head as it dropped again. Zulema’s eyes were unfocused, the honey color she loved but hated to admit did not look the same.

“Can you stand up?”

“What do you think?”

“I would like it if you were more serious Zulema,” Macarena huffed as she hugged Zulema and raised her up, making sure all the weight of the brunette was on her. She apologized quietly as Zulema hissed again. She slowly led Zulema inside, for not one moment letting her go, closing the door with her foot. 

“How did this happen?”

“I… wasn’t… the most submissive”

“Fuck Zulema you look horrible”

“Thanks blondie.”

Macarena slowly leaned towards the sofa, helping Zulema lay down on it. Her white pajamas’ right side was covered in blood along with her right arm. But considering how Zulema looked, she felt like dirty pajamas were the least of her concern. She looked at Zulema’s scrunched up face, obviously so much in pain, yet too proud to admit it. There was an open gash on her hairline, blood oozing out and coloring her beige couch. She quickly glanced at the brunette’s body trying to locate the source of all the blood. She looked for a rip in her clothes indicating a stab or a gunshot or anything, just anything to explain the fucking huge amount of blood that she seemed to couldn’t stop.

“Zulema, where are you hurt,” she asked, still looking for a wound. “I’m dying Maca,” came the weak reply from the woman, causing Macarena to panic and stop the useless search for a wound, instead holding her head again and forcing the brunette to open her eyes.

“No, look at me Zulema,” she demanded in a rushed tone patting her cheek. “You can’t come to my house and die in my arms like a fucking tragedy.” Macarena watched as Zulema smirked but was concerned again when her eyes wouldn’t open. “Because if you do,” she continued feeling the panic rise in her, “I’m gonna find you, and kill you myself.” Macarena watched as a tear dropped from her own face, clearing a line in Zulema’s dirty face. Never would she think she would cry for the woman responsible for her parents’ deaths and yet the image of Zulema, wounded, vulnerable and dying was creating a storm inside her that she couldn’t control.

“You should open the door blondie.”

“What?”

“Open the door.”

Macarena took one of her hands from Zulema’s face wiping her tears. Great, she thought. Not only was she unable to get a clear explanation of where Zulema was hurt, but the woman was getting delirious now.

“There’s nobody at the door Zulema.”

“I am at the door, open the door.”

Macarena sighed, deciding to leave the woman alone and returning her quest to find a wound. 

Why was there so much blood?

“I already opened the door, Zulema, you’re in my living room. Now if you can tell me where you’re hurt I can help you.”

“It’s my heart. It hurts too much.”

Macarena stopped dead in her tracks, not expecting such an answer from the woman. 

“Are you sure? Is it like a heart attack? Because there’s so much blood Zulema…”

“It’s her…”

Macarena kneeled once again next to the woman, finding her eyes open. If there wasn’t a sinking feeling in her stomach Macarena would be happy to see the woman opening her eyes, but Zulema’s eyes seemed so distant she couldn’t help but shiver looking at them.

“Who’s her Zulema?”

“Fatima. She died… and now it’s my turn.”

Macarena bit her lip to try to stop her eyes from getting teary, the sight of the brunette crying too much to handle. She sniffed and cleared her throat pulling Zulema’s face closer. “No! No, I won’t let you die. We just need to stop the blood first okay, and then...” she felt her words die in her mouth, her tongue too heavy to move. Zulema was no longer bleeding, in fact looking at the impeccable cushion of her couch she had never bled in the first place. Macarena closed her eyes, counted to three and opened them to see the same image, all the blood leaking from Zulema’s body gone. “How,” she mumbled but one quick glance at her pajamas confirmed her shock, her shirt was as white as snow. She jumped with the sound of a loud bang on her door, followed by rapid knocks. Feeling like she was in a horror movie Macarena was afraid to move, let alone look at the face of the woman on her couch. “It’s not real,” she whispered to herself, hoping in a way she would speak it to existence. “Open the door Maca,” Zulema pleaded from the couch, her voice lacking any trace of emotions she had seconds ago. “No,” Macarena murmured again, “it’s not real.” This time she jumped as she felt a hand pulling her shirt’s collar, Zulema’s, forcing her to look at the woman now sitting up. 

“Open the door Maca. I need you.” 

Macarena looked at the honey eyes, never had she seen them this close. They were beautiful. “But you’re right here,” whispered Macarena, their lips barely touching. She felt like she was losing her mind. Zulema smiled in a way that she has never seen before, “I’m not here. But you wish I was.” She couldn’t have the chance to say anything, a sassy retort about how she didn’t wish such a thing, when she felt Zulema’s lips on her own. They were soft and sweet and she never felt so at peace.

Macarena woke up with a start. 

She was in her room. No trace of Zulema or a kiss so unexpected. “What the fuck was that,” she sighed, covering her face with her hands. Seeing Zulema in her dream was one thing, kissing Zulema in her dream was another. She wished her consciousness were a person so she could slap her hard and shake some sense into her. Macarena looked at the clock on her nightstand: 3:42. Her throat was dry and she felt as if she tried to go to sleep she would be back at her doomed living room, looking at those damned honey eyes. “Her eyes aren’t even honey,” she grumbled as she got up from her bed and walked to the kitchen, looking for something to drink. While she was passing by her door she couldn’t help but look at the door. She could hear Zulema’s voice, haunting her to open the door. 

_Open the door Maca. I need you._

She watched the door in anticipation, daring whoever was on the other side to knock it. But the night was silent and nobody knocked on her door. She sighed and turned away, getting mad over the fact that she even expected it to be knocked. Then she froze as a sound pierced the silence.

Someone was knocking on her door. 

It wasn’t rapid banging like it was in her dream. It was soft. In her dream she felt as if the person on the other side was demanding the door to be open. Now, she thought, the person was knocking like they knew she was going to open the door. As if she was expecting it. She found herself walking towards the door, like a person in trance, losing all awareness of her surroundings but the door. It was so similar to her dream, yet it felt different. She felt different. She didn’t bother to look outside from the door hole, she knew the lamp was broken. She didn’t bother to ask who was there on the other side. Deep down, she was scared it wouldn’t be the person she wanted it to be. She held her breath and opened the door with closed eyes, giving herself a second to exhale and open her eyes, slowly.

She would scream if she could. But she found her voice to be lost. 

There she was, the elf from the fucking hell not slumped down in front of her door in a pool of blood like in her dream, but hurt enough to be barely standing with a smirk, of course.

“Hello blondie, glad you opened the door.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read it until the end, thank you so much. Please take a few moments to leave a comment so I can know how you feel about this chapter or the story, well it's the first chapter but still. I actually love reading reactions and feedbacks for my written works so reading your comments would be very fun and motivating. Remember to take care of your health during this extraordinary time. XOXO


	2. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maca's realization causes a "somewhat" heart to heart conversation between Macarena and Zulema because, come on, we all know Zulema doesn't do emotional conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola people, I'm back. First of all, thank you so much for the lovely comments, I swear every time I read a new one I wanted to hug each one of you through my computer. This chapter is another long one and honestly, I'm surprised I managed to finish it in 5 days with how hectic my "online" school has been. I enjoyed writing this one a lot, as I like writing dialogues more and honestly imagining any kind of back and forth between my two babies are a whole comedic experience. Just a reminder, English is not my native tongue so any mistake you see I apologize for that, hopefully, it’s not so bad that it annoys you :)

“What are you doing here?”

Bruised and bloody Zulema was a sight to behold. Maca wondered if her emotional world were to overlap her reality whether she would see collapsing structures. Because that’s how she felt every time she ended up with Zulema, her world crashing down. Altagracia’s voice echoed in her mind, _“Destinies intertwined…”_

“I missed you?” Zulema pouted with a tiny simile that screamed sarcasm. Macarena doubted she’d feel any different if it wasn’t. She felt as if she was face to face with a naughty kid on a mission to achieve God knows what she wanted.

“You slapped me at your daughter’s grave. Remember that?”

Zulema hissed, as if she regretted the slap, and was very sorry. Macarena would laugh at the absurdity but opt to not react, her fingertips itching to touch her own cheek as if she could still feel the sting. When she had driven back home from the graveyard that day, leaving Zulema behind, she had realized that it wasn’t the physicality of the hit that had hurt. It was the disappointment she had felt. She had tried to help the toxic woman, so stupid, just to end up shut out once again. With a bruise to top it all. She assumed there was an irony in there, but she didn’t want to think further.

Macarena watched as Zulema made a dismissive gesture, but regretted it immediately as letting go of the grip she had on the door resulted in her becoming unsteady on her feet. “I was grieving, you know... Emotionally unstable and all that bullshit,” Zulema hissed. Macarena decided that she couldn’t watch anymore and reached out to steady Zulema. What she didn’t expect was for the brunette to cling to her arms while still holding on to the door. The blonde froze with the body leaning heavily against her chest, how similar it was to the dream. All those years in prison, she knew Zulema didn’t like to be touched, let alone be held in such a way that one could say it resembled a hug. A shudder of worry went through Macarena, desperately hoping she wasn’t about to have Zulema die on her arms. She didn’t know how she would feel about that. A few weeks ago she couldn’t care less if her body was dumped in an alley, but after today, after that goddamn dream, she had the feeling it wouldn’t be the same. Still, she wasn’t about to be lured by simple “grieving mom” theatrics.

“You’re the last person to have feelings, Zulema. Emotionally unstable my ass,” she spat, pushing the woman forward so the contact between their bodies broke. It almost seemed like a scene out of a vampire movie to her, where Zulema was trying to take a bite and she had survived the curse awaiting her last minute. She watched as the brunette swayed, taken surprised by the motion, but soon was standing steady on her feet with a returning white-knuckled grip on the door frame. Macarena cleared her throat and pushed a blonde lock behind her ear, desperately wishing she looked unaffected by the close contact. 

“Why are you here?”

Zulema sighed, appearing to accept a somehow defeat. 

“I have glass stuck in my back.”

“And…” 

“And?” Zulema gave a brittle laugh. Macarena braced herself for what was about to come. After all, she knew what happened when those eyes would get dark. 

“Are you stupid or the slap gave you such a concussion you’re still suffering? They’re on my back. I need you to get it out.”

Macarena imagined slamming the door to the ungrateful bitch’s face, leaving her on the door, bleeding, out of breath. Then maybe if she begged enough she would take her in. Yet, the way Zulema was looking at her, with so much intensity, Macarena thought maybe this was Zulema’s own twisted way of begging. 

“Fine.”

Macarena stepped aside, watching as Zulema took a short breath and pushed herself off of the doorsill. She closed the door, resting her head on it. She could hear Zulema shuffle towards her living room, definitely out of breath. The Macarena she once was, the Macarena that rested deep inside, was screaming at her to help the woman but the mature Macarena knew better. She wasn’t about to try to help, not again, just to end up with a bruise. Zulema could crawl all the way to the couch for all she cared. Macarena froze upon the thought. 

**The couch.**

Images from the dream filled her mind, the warm blood on her fingers, staining the couch, Zulema’s eyes looking at her, so close yet so distant.

_I need you._

“Don’t!” 

Macarena heard Zulema stop from her sudden outburst. She frantically ran towards the living room, seeing Zulema looking at her with a confused expression. She realized the brunette was frozen halfway sitting on the couch. Macarena hurriedly pointed at the couch.

“Don’t sit on the couch.”

“Why?”

“Because…”

She stopped, thinking of a rational reason. Because I had this stupid dream where you were bleeding on my couch? Because the fucking dream scared me shitless? Because if you lay there and I look into your eyes and then you kiss me as you did in the dream-

“Because your clothes are dirty and I don’t want my couch to get stained. It’s beige.”

Macarena wanted to slap herself. Really hard. Didn’t want to get her couch stained? What was she, some sort of rich billionaire? She watched Zulema roll her eyes, then clean her pants with her hands, patting and wiping the tight material. 

“Happy?”

“No! Zulema, please don’t sit on my couch. Please...”

With the way Zulema was looking at her, she assumed she must have come off like a whining kid begging her mom to not take her favorite toy away. She expected Zulema to give her a stern glare, the ones her mom would give her, and sit on the couch saying, “you can’t have everything you want Maca.” But surprisingly she didn’t and turned to her, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Fine where?”

“What?”

“Where may I sit Macarena?”

“On the chair.” 

Macarena heard Zulema murmur under her breath, walking over to the black chair in front of the window. She felt like she was going to burst with the memory of Zulema’s lips on her own, _that fucking dream,_ so she quickly told her she was going to get the medical bag in her bathroom, leaving Zulema on her own. 

“You know once upon a time we were covered with chicken shit? Since when dirt sets you off,” she heard Zulema scream from the next room. She smiled, grateful that Zulema was as annoying as ever, easing the awkward tension she felt inside. “I just like that couch,” she screamed back, taking the bag and closing the bathroom cupboard. She waited for another scream but this time it was a dry cough. She felt her smile falter as with each cough Zulema’s struggling breaths got louder. She quickly ran back, blood rushing to her brain. As she ran inside the living room, anxious, she saw Zulema curled up on the arm of the chair, blood dripping from her mouth. The sight made her throat dry, suffocating, and Macarena rushed to the brunette’s side, kneeling down next to her and holding her hair up. She could see how the collar of her shirt was soaked with blood under her jacket, the glass pieces stuck in Zulema’s flesh, visible now that the black hair wasn’t covering it. She was ready to chastise the woman coughing about how careless she had to be to get this battered but her thoughts were forgotten as she got distracted by Zulema’s inaudible whisper between coughs. “What,” she asked worried, inching closer in hopes of hearing her better. “I said the couch… its color is boring… Like you,” said Zulema between breaths, her coughs settled enough to let her straighten up from the curled position she was in just seconds ago. Macarena couldn’t help but laugh with the brunette who was also laughing now. She felt her heartbeat slow down. Something about the bloody smile of Zulema was comforting.

“You do realize I’m about to pull fucking glass out of your skin, right? A thank you would be enough.”

“No, I prefer insulting you.”

Macarena looked at the ceiling, shaking her head. She didn’t want to admit but she had missed the crazy bitch. The woman was out of breath, blood running from her mouth, slumped on her chair with big ass pieces in her back and here she was, the elf from the literally fucking hell, bickering. “I hate you too Zulema,” Macarena said, pulling the brunette’s hair in a bun and taking the tweezers out of the aid bag. 

…

“How many people were there?”

“Two men.”

“Why were you fighting?”

“They were about to rape a girl.”

“And since when do you save random people?”

A pause. Macarena waited for the answer as she took out another piece of glass and put it on the table. She could only see the back of Zulema’s head but wished so badly that she could look into the woman’s face. The silence irked her and she wanted answers. “How did they get you so bad,” Macarena changed her question, pulling another piece, fastly, not caring that it could hurt, hoping that it would. In return, Zulema took a sharp breath, breaking her silence. 

“They were strong.”

Macarena sucked her teeth, shaking her head. “And you want me to believe you had nothing on you. A knife?” “I dropped it,” came the simple reply from Zulema. The third piece of glass clinked on the table. She felt herself getting angry.

“Did you even fight back?”

Another pause. This time Macarena had hit the bullseye, and she knew Zulema knew it too. She felt the brunette’s shoulders stiff under her hands, a thick tension forming between them. For the first time, Macarena was glad she wasn’t looking at the woman’s face. If she did, there was a good chance the sight would scare her. 

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, no?”

Upon Zulema’s answer, Macarena stopped. Zulema had tried to relax, tried to keep her voice normal. The answer was supposed to be nonchalant, showing her that the question hadn’t fazed her. But Macarena had seen right through her facade. She felt bold upon the realization. Getting under Zulema’s skin was not something she succeeded at often. “I don’t know,” she said, making sure she sounded suspicious. She held the lass piece with the tweezer getting ready to put it on the table. Without a second, Zulema’s cold hand wrapped around her wrist, tight, pulling her closer. Macarena finally saw the brunette’s face and seeing her seething, she couldn’t help but get angry herself. 

“What are you implying blondie,” Zulema hissed. Macarena thought she looked more like a snake than a scorpion at the moment. Why nobody had thought about calling her that. Macarena realized she was familiar with this Zulema, she knew this Zulema better. The soft Zulema, the begging Zulema, she didn’t know what to do with. But this Zulema she knew. She knew it better than herself. So she grabbed Zulema’s arm that held her and pulled her even closer.

“Seems like you got yourself beaten on purpose so you could come here, Zulema.”

She watched as Zulema gave her another bloody smile, this one not comforting at all. Macarena didn’t have to imagine smoke coming out of the woman’s ears from rage, it was written all over her eyes. It wasn’t the honey eyes she stared at, they were nowhere to be found. These pair of eyes she was looking at was black. Macarena knew she was right. She had hit a nerve. A nerve that was so exposed she couldn’t even get happy for discovering it. Whatever had happened to the brunette, it wasn’t anything she hadn’t wanted. And this realization alone was enough to make Macarena’s blood run cold. 

“Everything is about you, isn’t it? You think I care about you that much?”

If Macarena hadn’t been Zulema’s enemy once upon a time she would get hurt over how certain Zulema sounded. If she were Saray, maybe, her heart would break and she would push the woman away, yelling at her to leave her house. But she wasn’t her friend. No. She was her enemy and a good enemy at that. So she knew when Zulema was struggling. She knew when she was trying to distract. So Macarena didn’t rise to the bait; after all, this was the Zulema she knew. She gripped the woman’s arm harder. 

“You tell me. You’re the one who came knocking on my door.”

“Let me go,” Zulema gritted her teeth, seething. Second hiss Macarena noted, she was getting dangerously close to Zulema’s breaking point. “No,” she shook her. “You’re not leaving ‘till you tell me why you are here. The real reason.” 

This was it, she thought. The last punch. She let herself feel smug for a short second, and be proud of the flicker she saw in Zulema’s eyes. And every little feeling of success she had, disappeared the moment she felt Zulema headbutt her. 

Fucking bitch.

She closed her hands around her nose, feeling the warm blood drip to the ground from her palm. Zulema was already up and limping, taking the bomber jacket Macarena had put on the couch before pulling out the glasses from her skin. 

“Don’t worry, I didn’t break your nose. Wouldn’t want to mess up the pretty face…”

“You bitch…”

Macarena felt her eyes tear up from the pain, buzzing energy radiating from her nose. She saw Zulema get closer to the door, just a few steps, and turn around. There was a genuine smile sent towards her, one that would make her smile too if that crazy bitch hadn’t fucking hit her with her head.

“I would love to stay and chit chat like two friends but…”

At this point Macarena felt this was due all along, her trying to help, ending up with a bruise, being the audience to another monologue about Zulema’s love for her liberty. “You know me…” Zulema continued, touching her head, scrunching her face. 

“I was never the-”

Macarena watched as Zulema’s eyes rolled back, her body hitting the ground hard. For the second time this night since she opened her door at 3:42, Macarena wished she could scream. She wiped her bloody hands on her white pajama and put them on her waist, standing in the middle of the living room with bloody gauzes and glass around, looking at the passed out woman.

“Unbelievable.” 

...

Zulema wished she could just once wake up without feeling like a hole had been dug up inside her head. Just once. Opening her eyes she expected to be blinded by some light, so when she found the room dark, she was grateful. But not so grateful when her vision was filled with a very happy Macarena and her swelling nose. 

“Hello again.”

“Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed Zulema.”

She wiped her eyes with her hand, immediately regretting as she felt like bombs exploding in her skull. “What happened,” she asked, although she had a few ideas.

“You fainted. Turns out all that blood on your shirt was from a fucking gash on your head. Forgot to mention it?” Macarena looked unusually calm which Zulema was not going to lie, it looked intimidating. She could lie, wasn’t that what was she doing the whole time since she knocked on the blonde’s door? Still, a dooming feeling took over her, a whisper ringing in her ear, telling her it wouldn’t matter. Maca would see through her bullshit, maybe she already even saw. She sighed.

“Must have slipped my mind…”

This time it was Macarena sighing, followed by a head shake. “See,” the whisper came back. “Right through it.” Zulema moved her neck, trying to relax how stiff she had gotten. She wasn’t the type for the sentimentalities but seeing Macarena sitting next to her on the bed, her nose swollen because of her, her pajamas stained with her own blood, made her feel like shit. And she rarely felt like shit. She knew the blonde was a sucker for emotions, easily manipulated, easy to show compassion. “Relax blondie he just hit me with a piece of wood, I’ll live,” Zulema tried to smile, hoping if she made fun of it, the stupid mood the blonde seemed to have would disappear. “Come on Maca”, she thought. “Don’t look at me like that.” Maybe if Macarena could hear her thoughts she would, but Macarena couldn’t. Instead, she looked at her even more intensely, even worse, and gave the most stupid answer ever.

“It’s not that Zulema.”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? She looked at her, trying to maintain eye contact but it was useless as the blonde kept fiddling with her stained pajama. For once Zulema didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how to feel either. Was she supposed to be mad, or happy that she cared? The silence stretched on until Macarena burst like somebody had shocked her. 

“Since when you get attacked from behind so easily? The Zulema I know would know if even a fucking insect breathed on her back.”

To say that Zulema was taken back from the sudden outburst would be unexpectedly accurate. Macarena was looking at her with such a disappointed face that Zulema found herself to be the one averting eyes. 

“I was distracted.”

“Were you? Or did you want him to think you were?”

Zulema didn’t like this. Not at all. Every word out of Macarena’s mouth was filling up in her throat, suffocating her. With every ridiculous lie, she imagined herself as if she was trying to raise her hands to stop the punches the blonde was sending her way but there were no fists for her to stop. They were just bitter truths that Maca knew how to read.

“Whatever you think happened, it wasn’t that. You’re overthinking.” 

Zulema felt the control slipping away from her. Nothing she could say now would change the reality. Whatever Maca think happened, was probably a better explanation of what happened then she could ever give. She cursed the blonde for getting into her head in that alley, cursed her mind that the only place she could think of coming was this small flat. She watched as Macarena clenched her fist.

“Do you know when was the last time I saw you this beaten? When you let Anabel’s dogs beat you in the bathroom. Big emphasis on the ‘let’, Zulema.” 

It wasn’t rocket science to see that the blonde was angry. The anger was good. It was familiar, easy to mold... Zulema liked seeing anger. She tried a different tactic. “What is this, some sort of psychoanalysis? You tryna be Sandoval Maca? huh? Want to sit down in a circle and talk about our traumas,” she laughed mockingly. 

“It’s about your daughter isn’t it?” 

Zulema’s smile dropped so fast she knew it was too late to act like it wasn’t. She felt her head get dizzy, the howling wind of the helicopter filling her ears. 

“It’s about Fati-” Zulema saw red, closing her hand on Macarena’s mouth. “Don’t,” she whispered, her voice shaking, a tear escaping. She couldn’t stand how Macarena was looking at her, like she was some traumatized kid, needing help, needing patience, needing love… Normally she would rather die than let the blonde she hated so much, _so much,_ see her cry but right now it didn’t matter. She couldn’t give a fuck if she looked weak. She just needed her to understand. “Don’t say her name,” she whispered, her voice coming off stronger than what she expected. Macarena nodded with her head, closing her hand on her own, pulling Zulema’s hand away from her mouth. 

“This is not the way to grieve Zulema,” Macarena whispered, not breaking the grip she had on her hand, still watching her with that look. 

“And what do you know about grief?”

“I know enough to recognize it.”

She blinked, her heart beating fast against her own will, a sinking feeling in her stomach. She wanted to say something, an apology, maybe something comforting but she couldn’t. She never was good at caring anyway. In fact, if there was one person who knew this, it was Macarena Ferreiro. Macarena smiled at her, a hurt but knowing smile. She imagined it was her way of saying “I know.” Zulema wondered if there was more to it if there was any forgiveness for the pain she had caused her. Regardless of what it held or didn’t, it was a pretty smile, so Zulema smiled back.

“Get some rest, we’ll talk in the morning.”

Zulema chuckled, glad that the topic was over, her soul finally feeling like it wasn’t naked. “God no,” Zulema thought, “Over my dead body.”

“We won’t talk about it.”

Macarena shrugged, getting up from the bed.

“I won’t force you. I know you enough.”

Zulema laughed watching the blonde stand at her door. 

“You sound soft Maca. Be careful, I might think you like me.”

“Zulema?”

“What?”

“I hate you.”

Zulema felt her breath hitch, it was something about the way Macarena had said it, quietly, like a whisper, yet too loud in itself. She looked helpless, Zulema thought, as if the blonde was surrendering. She didn’t know why but a strange feeling ran through her at the idea. She wondered if it was guilt. But if it was the guilt she was feeling, which she never did, because guilt was the most useless feeling ever as she had said to Hierro years ago, but if it was, Zulema wondered what was she sorry for. Certainly, whatever it was, it didn’t have to do anything with the way Macarena was looking at her. With pity, with worry, with care... Zulema sighed. Her head was throbbing, her back was stiff from all the bandages and she felt too tired to think. She just wanted to sleep and not think about the meanings behind looks or smiles. She made a dismissive gesture with her head and laid down back on the bed, turning her back to the door, to the blonde who still gave her the same look. 

“I know. Stop worrying like a mom. Go to your bed, I hate you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a Tumblr account that I don't post at often but actively use. So if you guys have any questions about the story or the upcoming chapters, recommendations, feedback, advice, or hell I don't know a storyline that would be cool to read don't hesitate to message me @supremesepta. I LOVE reading reactions and interacting with my readers so I'd appreciate chatting with you guys a lot. 
> 
> Also, if you liked this chapter please take a few moments to leave a comment so I can know how you feel about this chapter or the story. Like I said, reading your comments is always very fun and motivating. Lastly, remember to take care of your health during this extraordinary time. XOXO


	3. Like Bonnie and Clyde, No?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Macarena makes the best decision of her life. Or does she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola, people I’m back. First of all, I’m sorry for the delay, this past week was a very busy one, I attended a conference, had to prepare for a job interview and had finals to top it all. BUT, fear not, I have a very long chapter for you guys, hopefully, it’ll be enough to redeem myself. 
> 
> Okay now secondly, thank you so much for the lovely comments, I told this before but it never changes, every time I read a new comment I want to hug each one of you through my computer. This chapter will have some mentions of Saray and Rizos because, come on, you can’t dive deep into Maca and Zule’s psychology without talking about those two characters. Just a reminder, English is not my native tongue so any mistake you see I apologize for that, hopefully, it’s not so bad that it annoys you :) ps: long AN at the end of the chapter

She didn’t know if it was the temperature of the room or just her mind, but Macarena couldn’t seem to stop tossing and turning in her bed. She had issues with sleeping since the day she had got out of Cruz del Norte but tonight it seemed different. She felt as if the reason for her insomnia was not a traumatic effect of spending years in prison but rather a person. A person that caused much more pain and trauma than any prison could ever have. 

When she had rented this place, the little bedroom next to hers had seemed unnecessary. She had no friends that could stay over, no parents to spend the night, and Roman would never allow her to spend some time alone with her niece. Maybe if she had a promising future, like the normal woman she was years ago, she would dream of a day where she would turn the room into a nursery. But now she didn’t think bringing a child would be fair to it, an ex-convict mom could only do so much. The best job she could find was working at a washhouse. A job with shitty pay and an even shittier boss. 

Macarena huffed once more and kicked the sheets away. She had opened the window to let the breeze in but still, her body felt like it was burning. The mere thought of the creepy man that she called her boss was enough to start a migraine. From outside, with his beer belly and long beard, the man was in no way similar to Valbuena but his constant gaze on her, more specifically on her ass was a downright copy of the bastard jail guard. Sometimes Macarena wished she was back in jail, at least there she could hit some perverts without the fear of ruining her only chance at a job. “Some freedom I have,” she thought. She pulled her pillow from under her head and pressed her face in the cold mattress. She wanted to scream. A muffled voice outside of her room broke the overwhelming silence surrounding her. 

“Fuck!”

Macarena lifted her head with curiosity. She could hear quiet curses through the wall, the thin walls coming handy for the first time. She knew it was Zulema walking in the corridor, or trying by the sounds of it. She heard a light switch turn on and the creak of the bathroom door. No matter how many times Macarena had oiled the hinges that goddamn door still creaked up to this day. She heard Zulema curse again, obviously bothered by the noise. Slowly Macarena got out of her bed, tiptoeing towards her bedroom door. She thanked God she had left the door ajar when she had decided to sleep, hoping that if Zulema decided to run away in the morning she would be able to hear it. Although Zulema was not running away, Macarena was still glad she had heard her. Being careful to not make a noise she quickly stepped away from the door, standing at the other end of the hallway. From there she had a clear vision of the bathroom door. What she saw, with its rough edges, was a small body leaned against the wall, one hand clutching tightly her ribs. The bathroom’s light was too dimmed for Macarena to see Zulema’s face but if she could, she knew it would have been contracted with pain. Macarena was never one with the advanced hearing abilities, but she could still hear the shallow breaths Zulema took, with sharp hisses in between. 

“Shit, come on!”

Macarena heard Zulema’s whisper, more like a gasp, a clear order for her body to pull it together. At the moment, there was nothing Macarena wanted more than to hold Zulema’s arm and help her breathe, but she knew this was the brunette’s fight. It was a show of control between Zulema’s mind and body and if Macarena were to interrupt, that would mean Zulema would lose, and just the idea of Zulema letting the pain win was enough to make Macarena uncomfortable. So she stayed at the end of the hallway, concealed by the darkness, watching Zulema struggle. Maybe once upon a time, the sight would make her content, but now it was as if an elephant was sitting on Macarena’s chest. She decided if Zulema would fall or pass out again then she would intervene. But only then, her mind repeated.

A few quiet seconds later she heard Zulema push the door further, disappearing in the bathroom’s light. Trusting the total darkness Macarena took a few steps forward, a hand on the wall, waiting for any noise from the bathroom. 

For a whole minute, Macarena waited for something to happen. She didn’t know if the constant silence was good or not if Zulema was alright or had fallen and now laid on the ground with her head cracked open. “Maybe I should just knock on the door,” Macarena thought, “like I just woke up to go for the bathroom.” She took a hesitant step, slowly raising her arm to knock on the door when a sudden loud crash echoed in the hallway, causing panic to surge through her.

Without hesitation she barged into the bathroom, fuck Zulema’s pride she wasn’t going to stand by any longer, the piercing light blinding her for a second. What she expected, was finding Zulema in a pool of blood but instead, she found Zulema eyes wide and scared like a small kid caught in action after breaking her mom’s favorite vase. Well, Zulema was far away from an innocent small kid and Macarena was damn sure not her mom but the metaphor would have been on point as Macarena’s blue vase that usually stood on the shelf was now decorating the ground with its broken pieces.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m good. Broke your pretty vase though,” Zulema nodded, pointing to the ground.

“It doesn’t matter.” 

She watched in astonishment as Zulema stiffly started kneeling down, her hand never leaving her ribs. She could read her agony from her face as she finally reached the ground. Macarena could laugh in disbelief at the woman’s determination to seem strong, but her heart was still beating fastly, not exactly recovering from the scare a few seconds ago. She approached Zulema tentatively, like approaching a wild animal, a wild animal that was badly injured and in need of help… She extended her hand towards Zulema, urging her to take it. 

“Come on, leave it, I’ll clean it up.”

After a few back and forth glances between the ground and Macarena, Zulema huffed and took her hand, letting Macarena help her up. Grunting in pain Zulema held on to her hand for dear life, her long nails sinking into her palm. Macarena felt a warm sensation radiate from her hand up her body, until it reached her chest, swallowing her heart. She looked at Zulema’s heavy eyes, puffy and without makeup, and saw the honey shade she liked under her bathroom’s light. She wanted to ask her if she could stand on her own but Zulema didn’t need her to voice her concern, she slowly nodded and pulled her hand away, standing next to the door. The warmth in her hand disappeared the second Zulema had pulled her hand away but Macarena found her heart still full of warmth. She cleared her throat after Zulema averted her eyes, feeling an awkward tension build up like she was back in high school looking at her crush. The thought horrified her. Having Zulema and crush on the same sentence was just a sign of how much sleep-deprived she was. It couldn’t be more than that.

She bent down and started collecting the big broken pieces, throwing them in the nearby trash can. She could feel Zulema’s gaze on her back, watching her intently from the door. Suddenly a simple task like sweeping the floor for glass pieces became like an important task that required her full attention. Something about Zulema watching her made her mind went into a panic mode. As if her brain was screaming at her to not mess up whatever it is that she was doing. She cleared her throat again but no use, the tightness in her throat remained like she had a big bite and couldn’t swallow. And maybe it was exactly what she had done. By taking Zulema inside her home, welcoming the woman, and the emotions she made her feel she had taken a bite she was not capable of swallowing. And now she felt as if she was choking on it. On all these feelings she couldn’t stop.

She took a toilet paper and started wetting it on the sink, meeting Zulema’s eyes on the mirror.

“You sure you’re alright?”

“Yes.”

This time Macarena was the one to avert her eyes, closing the tap and kneeling down to wipe the floor. She continued for some time even though she was finished in hopes of avoiding Zulema who looked too intimidating and fierce while still watching her.

“I never liked this vase anyway,” she stood up, smiling towards her. “Then why put it there, it’s stupid,” Zulema said, making a face. Macarena shook her head still smiling.

“I was trying to make you feel better Zulema, like a normal human being. Incase if you felt bad but who am I kidding it’s you we’re talking about.”

She threw the wet paper away, a little too forceful. She didn't know why she did it, but she was glad to see Zulema had taken notice. She watched as the brunette rolled her eyes.

“You want a fucking apology like a whining child?”

“No. No, I don’t.” 

“Good ‘cause I wouldn’t apologize.”

Macarena rolled her eyes. What was it about Zulema acting like a small kid? Yes, she could definitely see the resemblance. She wiped her wet hands on the towel next to the sink, getting out of the bathroom. Zulema followed behind her, like an obedient child.

“Well I’ll clean it better in the morning, this will do for now.”

She closed the door and switched the light off, forgetting that the bathroom’s light was the only light source in the hallway. They stood awkwardly in the dark for a moment, waiting for the other to do something. Macarena knew it was her that was supposed to say something, a “good night,” or an “I’m going to bed.” But something inside told her neither would be the right thing to say. There was a constant nagging in the back of her mind that kept reminding her how Zulema’s eyes had looked when she first barged in the bathroom. Red and puffy. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep in this house. Macarena wondered what was keeping the brunette awake, whether the fearless woman who a long time ago turned into something out of a myth in the prison could lose sleep over nightmares. Whatever she was supposed to say, or whatever Zulema wished that she would say, apparently Macarena didn’t know and Zulema was never the one for waiting long. She watched as the brunette threw her a tight smile and made her way to the guest room, walking even slower than Macarena thought she was capable of. She wanted to sleep, she really did, but after tonight’s incident no matter how much she wanted she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, Zulema’s eyes haunting her even in her bed. Macarena pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and sighed. 

“Zulema,” she called out to the brunette, who turned immediately. Macarena felt like she was going in the right direction.

“I can’t seem to sleep tonight, I was going to drink some coffee, wait till the sunrise or something”

Zulema frowned.

“And?”

Macarena counted to three and hoped she was about to do the right thing.

“I could use some company if you want?”

Macarena held her breath and waited for a reaction, a demeaning laugh or worse, a straight-up insult. What she didn’t expect was Zulema shrugging her shoulders and start walking, “Well if you insist,” passing her on her way to the living room.

Macarena couldn’t shake the shock away for a while, frozen on spot. Zulema had accepted the offer, she was okay with drinking coffee with her, a domestic activity that up to this day Macarena wouldn’t even be able to picture them doing together. A smile crept upon her face, a new feeling spreading in her abdomen. But it didn’t last long as the rational part of her mind took over. How bad the situation must have been, for Zulema to agree? Dread quickly filled her as Macarena remembered how small Zulema’s voice had sound when she had mentioned Fatima, how a tear had dropped, following the path of her new tattoo. The nagging feeling returned, this time whispering in her ear.

_“It’s her… Fatima died and now it’s my turn.”_

A cold shiver ran up her spine, causing the hair in the back of her neck stand on end. Everything felt like a sick joke, from the horrible dream that seemed to replay in her mind over and over again, to seeing Zulema so different. Macarena wondered is she was losing her mind, Zulema’s sudden presence poisoning her slowly with each second that ticked away.

She went to the kitchen in a daze pulling two cups from the cupboard above her head. She watched her hands prepare the hot water, mixing the sugar and the coffee in advance. Her body felt on autopilot, her mind too overwhelmed to perform a simple task like preparing coffee. 

Macarena was not the most sentimental type when it came to dreams, sure she had her fair share of weird dreams that came true or signaled a future incident beforehand but never had she found her dreams to be this haunting like the one she saw tonight. If this was a message from the universe, Macarena didn’t know how to read it. Was she supposed to protect Zulema, by how the injured Zulema in the dream had begged her to open the door, and now the real Zulema stood in her living room, hurt. She knew Zulema had too many screws loose somewhere, Macarena wouldn’t find it strange if she were to get into a fight with two rapists by herself, without a weapon. But no matter how crazy Zulema was, she also knew how smart she was. Zulema didn’t get injured badly unless she injured herself or let somebody else hurt her, all for a greater purpose. And when she had asked her if she had got beaten purposefully, “she got defensive,” macarena murmured. A similar sinking feeling blossomed in her body. Zulema would never get defensive.

The loud “clink” of the water-heater pulled Macarena violently out of her thoughts, leaving her feeling emptier than before. She sighed and poured the water into the cups, watching the clear liquid turn into a soft brown. She couldn’t help but wonder if Zulema’s eyes would be like that if the sun hit it on a hot day.

She took the coffees and head to the living room, concentrating hard to not spill anything. 

“I don’t know how you like your coffee so-” Macarena stopped abruptly upon the sight that welcomed her. Zulema was sitting on the big chair in front of the window, the same chair she had sat hours ago, her elbows tucked under her chin, watching the street. From her position Macarena could see the street lights reflecting from the window, different colors painting her face. She didn’t know how to describe the image in front of her. Zulema seemed so in peace that Macarena didn’t want to interrupt her. She had never seen this side of Zulema and she came to the conclusion that she could watch her for a little longer, just to savor this moment. Then she’d hide the memory in a special place at her brain and whenever the brunette would get on her nerves and try her last thread of patience she would remember this Zulema. However, Macarena’s plan to watch the other woman for a little while longer became unaccomplished as the brunette turned around with the sound. They locked eyes, light brown piercing through hazel.

“What?” Zulema smiled, tucking a black lock behind her ear. 

Upset with how the moment had been broken, Macarena shook her head and extended the cup to Zulema.

“Nothing, didn’t know how you liked your coffee so I just did it like mine.”

Zulema shrugged off and took a sip. A quiet hum parted from her lips, an indication that she had liked it. Happy with the fact that she wouldn’t have to redo her coffee Macarena carefully sat next to Zulema folding her leg to fit into the small space. None of them said anything for a while and Macarena liked the silence. She wondered if somebody were to come to the living room now like she had, would the two of them look in peace together. She wanted to laugh at the irony. Who would’ve thought they could sit next to each other, hips touching and be in peace. They were supposed to be enemies for fuck’s sake. 

Zulema raised a hand to touch the window, a long nail tracing some of the lights. 

“Your house is nice.”

Macarena couldn’t help but snort. “I thought it was boring… Like me?”

Zulema rolled her eyes and pointed at the couch with her thumb. “Well, that fucking couch is.”

Macarena decided to not respond, after all, if she wasn’t so sure that Zulema would get suspicious she would throw the couch away in an instant. After the dream, she couldn’t even look at it without seeing Zulema bleeding on it, then pulling her face closer, pressing her lips against hers. So soft and-

“I like the view.” 

Macarena gave a shaky breath, taking a big sip of her coffee, liking the way it burned her throat. Anything to distract her from the heat she was feeling in her belly. She watched as Zulema continued to trace her finger on the window. She appreciated the fact that Zulema was making small talk, maybe this whole thing didn’t have to be so awkward.

“I know it’s not the best but this is the only place I can stay at with a shit job.”

Zulema stayed silent, supporting her head with her hand while the other kept its place on the window. She looked like she wasn't listening, lost in her own head but Macarena knew she was. She wanted to keep the talk going, it wasn’t usual for Zulema to be in the mood for a chat. She knew a question would be risky but she wanted to try her chance anyway.

“What about you… Where have you been living?”

Zulema kept her eyes on the window, her face stoic, a perfect image of being unbothered. But the way she stretched her back showed Macarena that she didn’t like the question.

“Stop worrying about me like you mean something. Why the sudden care?”

Macarena couldn’t help but get angry at the response. She knew it was yet another defense strategy of Zulema, she knew she was on the right track to get an answer like this and she knew the reason behind the annoyed tone of Zulema’s was because she had made her uncomfortable but still the disappointing feeling remained, leaving a bitter taste. She felt stupid to even think Zulema acted differently. She was still the same bitch and Macarena did not like that bitch at all.

“You look like shit, I was trying to find out if you were a homeless shit. I don’t give a fuck if you sleep in a box or a god damn palace.”

Zulema chuckled, leaning back on the chair, taking her coffee from the little table next to her. Her knee brushed against Macarena’s leg causing the blonde to want to move away from her, as far as she could in the chair they were sitting together. The chair was meant to be big and comfy for a person to sit but not two people. 

“Calm down blondie. Damn. I believe you,” Zulema laughed taking a sip. 

Macarena felt something snap inside her, releasing a burst of pent up anger she had suppressed when she had seen Zulema injured. Now that she looked fine and sharp-tongued than ever, Macarena didn’t see a reason to act kind. When she would remember this day and think about why she had gotten angry so suddenly she would realize that it had been the laugh. Zulema’s sarcastic laugh had upset her beyond she could expect. 

“Honestly Zulema I’m tired of you. You don’t like me, good. I don’t like you either. But I’m not gonna let you come in my house and treat me like shit. We’re not in prison anymore, nobody has to tolerate your ass.”

Zulema laughed once more, scratching the corner of her eye. She extended her left hand to touch the window again, her palm printing the glass. She turned her head toward Macarena, tilting it. 

“What do you want? To become besties? Unbelievable...”

She laughed again, the third time a voice snarled inside Macarena’s head, biting her lip and returning her gaze back to the city.

Macarena was annoyed. Macarena was angry. Macarena was hurt. She wanted to wipe the smug smile off of Zulema’s face. For once, she wanted the brunette to be bothered and show it, take something seriously. 

“No Zulema. I don’t need your friendship. Nor do I want it. God no. Everybody close to you ends up dead. Either you kill them or somebody else does.”

She had tried to say it the same nonchalant way that Zulema kept talking to her. Still, she felt like it was far from nonchalant. Well, it didn’t matter to her anymore. Zulema had visibly tensed. Macarena could see her clenching her teeth from how stiff her jaw was. The smile on her lips was now frozen. But it wasn’t enough. Macarena wanted more. She wanted her to frown. So she continued without exactly thinking about what to say next. The nagging voice was back and this time she wasn’t going to ignore it. From day one she had been nothing but cordial towards Zulema, not leaving her alone on her first day out of prison, driving her to her daughter’s grave, pulling glass, _fucking glass_ , out of her back. And what she got in return? A slap to the face, a swollen nose, and constant jabs. She wasn’t her friend nor her family. She was the sole cause of her parent’s death. Macarena had no gratitude towards Zulema, nothing forcing her to go through this. She was done. 

“Come to think of friends, where was Saray when you got out huh? Or where’s she now? She didn’t let you in her house so you could lick your wounds? Why did you knock on _my door_ , Zulema?”

Zulema’s lips curled upward, a sinister smile starting to form. Macarena could hear her breathe. She didn’t stop. She felt like someone had opened a box inside her, a box waiting to explode for a long time. 

“Of course she didn’t. Why would she? She doesn’t have to stick with a crazy maniac who cares about nobody but herself does she? No, she has a daughter now. A family. You don’t. You’re as lonely as it gets.”

The minute the words left her mouth Macarena knew it was a low blow. Zulema’s head quickly turned to her, confirming it. She could see Zulema’s eyes, a dark shade of brown, burning their ways into her soul. Macarena wanted to feel sad for what she said but she was past that. She wasn’t going to pity Zulema. The bitch didn’t deserve it. She inched her face closer, a clear act of defiance. She wasn’t intimidated by her tight smile or her dark eyes. She had seen them many times before. They didn’t work on her anymore.

“I let you in, true, because I felt sorry for you. For someone who loves to be a lone wolf you sure as hell look desperate all alone.”

Something changed in Zulema’s eyes, similar to how it changed before she had headbutted her. Macarena waited for a blow whether it would be a physical one or an emotional one. Zulema was a scorpion and when they were cornered there was nothing they did better than sting. That blow, however, didn’t come. Zulema smirked and returned her gaze back to the window.

“Never took you as the jealous type,” she said, with a light voice. Amused was what she wanted Macarena to think she was. And maybe she was amused by her rent, but Macarena wasn’t going to let her laugh it out that easily. Two could play the game. So she laughed with her, tightening her grip on the cup. 

“Who am I gonna get jealous of, you and Saray? You two are more toxic than a fucking factory waste. No thanks.”

Zulema hummed and tapped her fingers on the window. 

“Look at you talking about toxic relationships…” The brunette turned her head towards her and furrowed her brows, feigning curiosity. Looking at how her eyes were glistening Macarena knew the blow she was waiting, was about to come in her way. 

“How is Rizos by the way?” 

She sighed and put her coffee back to the table.

“That was low.”

“So were you,” came Zulema’s retort. She wasn’t smiling anymore nor looking at her. A deafening silence filled the room. Macarena felt like shit and she hated it.

“I haven’t seen Rizos in months. She writes me letters and asks Tere about me but I just… Don’t know…”

Macarena didn’t know why she was explaining this to Zulema. She tried really hard to sound strong but she knew she had failed. To be honest, she didn’t know why she had refused to see the curly-haired woman, why she had this horrible feeling of guilt every time she saw a letter in her mail. She didn’t know how she had found her address but since last month she kept getting letters from her. Letters she kept in a box in her room, unopened. But of course, Zulema didn’t need to know that. 

“When I was in prison, I told Saray not to come. You know... for a visit.”

She was surprised by what Zulema had said. If she knew Saray enough, she knew the stubborn woman would never listen to her friend. She would set the whole prison on fire if it meant not leaving Zulema alone. It was a bitter feeling in itself. Zulema and Saray had betrayed each other more than once, caused deep scars, one that Saray still had on her cheek and many more that were left unseen to the eyes. Still, they had never separated, always coming back for the other. Rizos had never done anything to hurt her yet she couldn’t even write her a letter. Macarena felt horrible.

“And she listened?”

“No, she came. More than once. Fucking gypsy.” Zulema laughed, with a soft voice. The hand on the window had returned to her cup. “I never accepted the visits. Told one of the guards she could fuck off. I heard she punched some of them trying to get inside.” 

Macarena could see the pain in Zulema’s face, despite the smile, how her fingers scratched the skin under her nails. “Why,” she asked not expecting a real answer. 

“Because you’re right,” Zulema said making a face that showed she was done with the conversation and took another sip.

Macarena looked at the woman sitting next to her beyond the curtain of the rage she felt seconds ago. She sighed. This whole time all she wanted to do was to hurt Zulema, to see her serious, to see her human side. And now that she saw it she didn’t know what to do with it. Trying to hurt Zulema with her words was like hitting a brick wall with fists, hoping it would tumble down. Even though you knew you could never tear them down. But now she was looking at Zulema without the walls and it wasn’t because she had some magical fists, no, because Zulema had let them down herself. Showing the side of her that Macarena desperately had wanted to see. She didn’t know how to handle this realization.

“I guess we’re both alone,” she took a deep breath, resting her head on the chair.

“Cheers to that,” Zulema answered, already distant, her fingers tracing a different light reflecting through the window.

The sun had started to rise.

….

“So what’s your plan?”

Zulema gave her a look of utter annoyance but Macarena stopped her before she could speak.

“No stupid answers, please. I’m tired, Zulema. I can’t handle another bickering.”

Zulema nodded, wiping her mouth. 

“And what makes you think I have plans?”

This time Macarena was the one to give a look of annoyance.

Zulema mischievously smiled, raising her hands.

“What. It’s a nice answer...”

“You’re insufferable, ” Macarena shook her head and took a bite from her toast. It was close to 8 AM and they had agreed on eating breakfast without having an actual discussion. Of course, Zulema was still in bad shape and so Macarena had volunteered to do toasts for both of them. It was the only thing she could do with her empty fridge anyway. 

“Because I know you. You’d never settle for a monotone life. You crave adrenaline or danger or I don’t know whatever it is that you crave.”

Macarena watched as Zulema raised a brow, her lips curling upward.

“What I’m saying is that you’re one crazy bitch and I’m past trying to understand the motive behind your actions. But I know you always have a plan.”

“I don’t have a plan,” Zulema shrugged. “Yet anyway, I need money first,” she continued, scratching her head.

“Don’t you have bags of money hidden somewhere?”

“Careful Maca. My money is my business. Stay out of it.”

Macarena rolled her eyes. Zulema was crazy if she thought she would go down that road again.

“Relax Zulema nobody’s trying to steal your money. I know better than that.”

“Good cause it would be really ironic to have my money stolen while I’m robbing people.”

“What?”

Zulema looked at her questioningly, like she had asked the most stupid question. She knew Zulema lived for the thrill of messing up with people and their money but still, she felt as if it was too early, like the woman wasn’t ready to go back to that lifestyle. If stealing people’s money to escape prison could count as a lifestyle at all. The brunette obviously wasn’t the same, something had changed within her, a change that Macarena had missed when she was at the hospital. And whatever it was, it was making Zulema reckless. 

“Is this how you’re going to find the money? By stealing from people?”

“You seriously don’t expect me to have a 9-5 job do you?”

“No of course -”

“Then?”

“I just, I thought you’d lay low, at least for a while. Enjoy the freedom,” Macarena blabbered regretting every word coming out of her mouth. Zulema was the last person to lay low and have a normal life. But what was she supposed to say, “you’re emotionally unstable and I think you’re doing this to get yourself killed eventually?” Yeah, Macarena couldn’t say that. 

“You seem to have the normal life. Do you feel free,” Zulema asked, in a manner that screamed she already knew the answer. Macarena knew as well. Every day waking up at the crack of dawn, aimlessly busying herself to spend the time and putting up with pervert men at her job was not only the modern-day copy of the same boring life she had in prison but a lonely copy with no Sole, no Tere, no Rizos hell even no Saray. And although she hated to admit, from the moment Zulema had knocked on her door this was the first time since she got out that she felt free. Zulema was still looking at her, waiting for an answer but Macarena had nothing to give her. Zulema sucked her teeth and took another bite. 

“Freedom can be more limiting than prison if you let it be.”

Macarena looked at her toast, no longer feeling hungry. She hated this life she found herself in. No matter how many times she had told herself that it would get better with time deep down she knew it would never. Any chance of a good life, she had thrown it away the moment she had decided to help Simón. The system was not made for ex-convicts to have a good life. 

“And who are you going to steal from?”

“I have something in mind. Should be easy.”

A thought formed in Macarena’s mind, a stupid one that even she couldn’t believe she was weighing it. 

“Easy like fighting rapists, cause that didn’t end well,” she raised her brows, taking a bite from her toast like she was not interested in Zulema’s reaction. Deep down though, she was hoping that Zulema would take the bait.

“What are you trying to say?”

Bingo. Macarena put her toast on the plate carefully, locking her eyes with Zulema.

“You need somebody to watch your back in case something goes wrong.”

“And who will it be exactly? You?” Zulema laughed, clearly joking.

But Macarena wasn’t. And at that point, she made perhaps the most illogical decision in her life.

“Yes. Me.”

Zulema’s reaction was abrupt. She stopped laughing, looking at her with a ridiculous shock. Macarena ran her fingers through her hair, sighing.

“I’m serious Zulema.” 

Upon that Zulema started laughing even harder.

“Oh God, they say blondes are dumb but damn this is just a whole different level.”

Macarena felt something twist inside her, a flash of hurt that Zulema didn’t take her seriously.

“I escaped prison with you once. Even saved your life, no?”

“And then you snitched to your pretty boyfriend and had me kill Casper.”

Macarena pushed her plate away from her, leaning closer to the brunette. “But I _fooled you_ to kill Casper Zulema. For once you lost because I was smarter than you.” 

She watched as her words hit the target, Zulema wrinkling her napkin into a ball and squeezing it in her palm. With a sudden burst of confidence, she continued. 

“You do your plan and I’ll help you execute it. If something goes wrong and you make a mistake-” 

Zulema raised a brow with an insincere smile.

“I’ll make a mistake and you’ll fix it?”

“Why not?”

This time Zulema pushed her plate away, and leaned on the table towards Macarena, mimicking her.

“Do I need to remind you that you were in prison because you were fooled by your boss? Not exactly a smart move blondie.”

Macarena wasn’t about to back down. 

“And do I need to remind you that I also killed more than two people after that? I might not be an elf from the hell Zulema but I’m every inch of a criminal that you are.”

Zulema narrowed her eyes pointing at her with her head.

“Why should I trust you?”

“You came into my house injured, then passed out like a damsel in distress. Yet here you are, still breathing. Isn’t that enough?”

Zulema continued watching her, analyzing her every move, trying to understand if it was a game. It wasn’t. It was out of nowhere, uncalled for, yes, but it wasn’t a game. Maybe the universe was indeed sending a message to her by making Zulema knock on her door. She was her escape. A fresh breath of air. With Zulema, it was always about freedom. And God knows she wanted to feel free after so long. 

“Why do you want to suddenly become a criminal? After all those years of trying to prove that you weren't one?”

Macarena would ask herself this too if she were thinking clearly but she wasn’t. Every time she wanted to think, images of Zulema bleeding, Zulema begging and Zulema’s eyes filled her memory, along with her pervert boss and the empty fridge. She knew she’d rather be in danger with Zulema than live this life any longer. 

“Because thanks to you, I’m as fucked up as you are. Whatever you crave that makes you think a normal life is boring, turns out I’m craving that too.”

Zulema took a moment to think, looking at the window behind her. Macarena waited patiently for her gaze to return and when it did, she already knew Zulema had made up her mind. 

“And what if _you_ make a mistake. You know I won’t fix it, right? I won’t stay behind for you, I won’t risk myself for you”

Macarena smiled. This was it. 

“More fun for me then.”

Zulema smirked and threw the balled-up napkin behind Macarena, leaning back to her chair with her fingers scratching the table.

Macarena waited for a confirmation from the woman but Zulema kept eating her toast. “Zule, is that a yes,” she asked trying not to sound so eager, or desperate in that case.

“Fuck it, why not. It’s not like we’re gonna get married, we don’t have to love each other to steal money.”

Macarena wanted to jump over the table and hug the brunette but she kept her cool and stayed still, her leg bouncing up with excitement regardless. 

“Of course, like, we did work together before. If that counts as work, probably not, but like, nothing changed,” she quickly said, light happiness making her head dizzy.

“Obviously, I still hate you,” shrugged Zulema eating the last bite of her toast.

“Yes me too,” she said not caring about what Zulema said. “We’re just gonna be partners in... crime. Literally speaking.”

“Yes in crime. Like Bonnie and Clyde no?”

Macarena laughed feeling light-headed. “Yes, like Bonnie and Clyde.”

She ignored the nagging voice she kept listening to today, whispering about a tragic end of Bonnie and Clyde. She was too happy to listen to any red flags her mind was trying to point out. For the first time, she felt free and happy like a fresh start had suddenly appeared out of nowhere in the form of her old enemy. She felt like a small kid starting a new book. She couldn’t care less about how it ended at the moment. 

And maybe this was her biggest mistake. Maybe she should have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like it’s only fitting that I write some words about how I feel towards the finale. About Zulema’s end, I have to agree with Najwa and say that I’m happy they didn’t totally redeem Zulema, make her a saint, or have her die suffering from a terminal illness. I’m also so grateful to Alba and Najwa for forcing the producers to have Saray in the finale otherwise our Zule would be alone in the end. However, I KNOW my Zulema would go down guns blazing, not like this. The whole “gracias” thing with Macarena was a fiasco, I’m not even gonna talk about that. If I and thousands of fans are feeling like this I can’t imagine how Maggie must be feeling.  
> I want to tell you that I have a whole storyline planned for this book and even some ideas for a sequel so no panic, I’ll be giving you all the Zurena we were robbed off like the other talented writers in AO3. 
> 
> A last reminder, I have a Tumblr account that I don't post at often but actively use. So if you guys have any questions about the story or the upcoming chapters, recommendations, feedback, advice, or hell I don't know a storyline that would be cool to read don't hesitate to message me @supremesepta. I LOVED chatting with some of you from there so don’t be shy to come say hi :)  
> Also, if you liked this chapter please take a few moments to leave a comment so I can know how you feel about this chapter or the story. Like I said, reading your comments is always very fun and motivating. Lastly, remember to take care of your health during this extraordinary time. XOXO


	4. Apples for Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation with someone else causes Macarena to rethink what we should do for people we are supposed to love and what we shouldn't do for people we hate. But which category is Zulema really in?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola people, I’m back. I know it’s been a month (28 days but who’s counting really- I’m kidding I’ve been counting and feeling horrible for each day that passed). I never thought in a million years I would have to apologize to my readers for not updating for a MONTH. I’m really sorry guys. This past month has been very hard. I started two new jobs, mind you my first ever jobs, I’m getting ready for two different university exams for two different countries and it’s just been overwhelming, to say the least. Some days I was very tired and some days I just didn’t want to write anything, which is THE worst, cause I love writing and it makes me happy. Fortunately, I’m so so so happy to tell you guys I’m over whatever freaking writer’s block that I had experienced and got used to this new pace of my life. So rest assured, I haven’t abandoned this fic, fandom, and this ship. I actually planned the next 6 chapters if it’ll make you feel better and I can guarantee there’ll be more episodes after those too. Enough with the therapy session, this chapter we welcome a character I think we like (?) and dive deeper into Maca’s and a little bit Zule’s feelings. The chapter is not so long, f*cking writer’s block, but I already started the new chapter so no worries! Just a reminder, English is not my native tongue so any mistake you see I apologize for that, hopefully, it’s not so bad that it annoys you :)

“Zulema open the door.”

“Open it yourself bitch.”

“I’m naked you whore.”

“I mean it’s nothing I haven’t seen before so,” Zulema yelled back from the black chair she had been occupying since Macarena had gone to the shower, scrolling through the site of a coffee shop on her phone. Whoever was on the other side of the door had knocked a few times, then rang the bell exactly three times, without a pause in between. The high-pitched sound had echoed in the hallway, bounced off the walls, and drilled in her head but still, it wasn’t a sufficient reason for her to open the door. Zulema hoped the idiot would get the memo and be gone by now but the person was so stubborn that even Macarena in the shower had heard the door. Obviously, Zulema had no intention to open the door, because one, this wasn’t her house and two, there’s no way she was going to open the door to someone banging on it like that. It was either the damn cops or a very annoying friend. Thinking about it, she couldn’t decide which one would be the worst.

“Zulema stop being childish and open the door please, it’s the groceries.”

She huffed and threw the phone on the chair, the screen was no longer pink with espresso emojis and big fonts but blank. Food was food and she wasn’t about to let the blonde starve her claiming it was her fault for not opening the door to the groceries. She got up with a hiss, the sharp sensation returning to her lungs like a blaring reminder of a possibly broken rib, her back stinging from the open wounds. She walked towards the hallway, holding on to the corridor door to shout at the blonde in the bathroom.

“You have groceries coming at your door? Thought you had a shit job?”

“I do. He’s a person that works in the market. He brings them here cause I treat him nice.”

Ah, so that explained the constant knocking. He wasn’t an annoying friend. He was an annoying flirt. Macarena’s flirt to top it all… The blonde wasn’t exactly known to have nice choices of love interests, especially when it came to Zulema. Rizos and Fabio would agree in a heartbeat. A bitter feeling took a grip on her mind. Unmistakeably, the blonde was relatively young and beautiful, Zulema hated her but she wasn’t about to deny it, so it only made sense that she would have many people trying to get inside her head. Still, something about the idea of Macarena behaving in a way to impress someone, a man usually, didn’t sit right with Zulema. Although she would never admit it aloud she had gotten used to seeing the blond confident and in charge, making decisions for herself, after so many wrong ones for people she thought that cared about her. She wondered if it was some sort of protectiveness that she was feeling. After all, men were shit and nothing good came from them but a good fuck, and only once in a while. Still, it didn’t make sense that she would want to protect the blonde, she had never wanted to anyway. It was probably the annoyance towards the relapse Macarena seemed to have, trusting people again to feel a certain way towards them, letting them easily manipulate her. Zulema couldn’t expect Macarena to be like her, someone who wouldn’t trust anybody at all; it would be unfair. She had reasons to become the way she was today and although it made the younger woman absolutely naïve, naïve enough to be stuck in jail for years because of a scumbag, she was glad Macarena hadn’t lived through the same things. But still, come on, a boy working in a market? She could do way better than that.

“More reasons for you to open the door naked then. It would be one hell of a treat.”

Zulema shot a glance at the door, contemplating going back to the chair or just taking the groceries and slamming the door straight to the man’s face.

“Zulema I swear-”

She heard the running water stop, Macarena was obviously tired of yelling over the sound. This could also mean that Macarena was tired of the argument, hence the pause on the shower to make her point. Zulema deemed this detail to be unimportant.

“Fine, fine I’m opening it, damn!”

Guess she could check the guy out, find out if he was at least decent looking. Not that she cared but considering the blonde’s past lovers it was only normal that she was curious. Also, she wasn’t opening the door to intimidate the guy, it was for the groceries. And if the guy got scared when she was taking them, well, it was on him. 

“Zulema!”

She paused with her hand on the doorknob, a formidable look plastered on her face, the familiar notorious scowl already placed on her rosy lips. 

“What?”

“He’s… different. Please be nice.”

The perfect scary face of the Zulema Zahir faltered for a second upon hearing the distinct tilt in Macarena’s voice. But just as it happened it passed in a second, the clouds returning back to the light brown eyes, the curve of the lip gone. The brunette shook her head with a demeaning smile that nobody but the walls saw. _Different_. Fucking blonde. How many more times was she going to think everybody was different. My boss was a prick and married but he was different. I’m not homosexual but Rizos is different. Fabio was mean in the beginning but he’s different. Zulema bit her tongue to hold back whatever sense she wanted to knock into Macarena’s head and so she swung the door open, ready to bang it on to the man’s face in approximately ten seconds. 

“Hello!”

Zulema expected a lot of things. A well-built man on his late thirties with a trimmed dirty beard, well mannered but boring. Or a man in his forties, Macarena liked them old after all, clean shaved, with horrible taste in fashion and probably a smug face that would make one’s hand itch to slap. Well, whatever she expected was nowhere close to the man that stood in front of her with the most ridiculous looking hat Zulema ever saw, wawing at her like a good thought little kid with manners. His hair was combed neatly to the side, like a boy on his first day at school would do, his white shirt tucked into what appeared to be cotton pants. She watched as the boy, a boy possibly in his thirties, uncomfortably fidgeted under her gaze, taking a small step to the side to take a look inside the flat.

“Where’s Macarena,” he asked, with a slight lisp and raised eyebrows. He was still trying to see inside the flat over Zulema, moving from side to side like an agitated toddler. She took a step behind and pulled the door close to her, limiting the space he could see. 

“She’s in the shower.”

Unsuccessful with his attempts at seeing inside, the boy -man, her mind tried to correct- focused on her instead, big dark brown eyes intensely searching her face. 

“And who are you?”

“An old friend,” Zulema answered shrugging her shoulders. Probably “ex-cellmate” or “lifelong enemy” would be more suiting but Zulema was beginning to think Macarena had meant something else when she had said “different,” and considering that, maybe it was better to go with a less brutal answer. Was it a lie? No. It was just a far fetched truth. 

“I never saw you before,” he retorted, frowning. One of his hands had started to pull a brown string attached to the absurd hat. This, Zulema didn’t know how to answer. She wasn’t the best at human reactions but by the frown on the boy’s face, she could see he was troubled by her association with Macarena. Was she supposed to be known by this person since she was supposed to be a friend? She didn’t know how often friends were supposed to visit each other anyway. The only thing close to a friend for her was Saray and to try and come to a conclusion about normal friendships based on her experiences with the gypsy would be futile, even for her. 

“Well…”

She sucked her teeth and sighed moving her hand in a way that she hoped would mean something between a “you know how it is” and an “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Can you call Macarena,” he asked somewhat urgently, trying one more time to take a look inside. 

“She’s having a shower,” Zulema sighed and hoped repeating what she had said earlier would be enough this time. She was starting to feel stupid for even thinking Macarena and he could have something going on. Evidently the boy was special, and being the angel she is Macarena had lured the boy into liking her. Pathetic really but it wasn’t his fault. Even people much more conscious than he had fallen to the same trap. 

“Why do you have bruises on your face?”

Upon the question Zulema unintentionally touched her cheek, the skin under her fingers sensitive and swollen. She assumed her cheek, along with other parts of her face and body were not only swollen but discolored too. 

“I got into a fight.” 

“With who?”

“With some imbecile who asked too many questions… like you,” Zulema huffed, rolling her eyes and counting to ten inside. Her patience was running thin but she had to stay calm. What kind of a person she would be if she treated him without tolerance. She might be bad but she wasn’t a douche. She watched as the boy took a step back, his eyes growing wide.

“You’re scary,” he whispered almost looking like he was ready to run away. The image of him stirred a warm feeling inside of her, an unexpected turn of events she barely managed to keep inside. Something about his quiet tone and bewildered eyes were reminding her of children and on the contrary to what people said about her Zulema did like children. Only if they did not have to go through shit to grow up and lose the once sweet innocence they were born with. “You’re lucky” she wanted to tell him, “You’re lucky to be different, never let anybody convince you otherwise.” But she didn’t. Because after all maybe she wasn’t the person he had to hear it from. Instead, she reached out, her hand suspended between them as an offer to take the groceries. She imagined he would be glad by the gesture, relieved even, not having to put up with the scary-looking lady any longer. It was a clear way out she expected him to take but the boy seemed to have different plans.

“How am I supposed to know you didn’t hurt Maca and she’s dead.”

She retreated her hand back, a little hurt by the accusation but not bitter. She had tried to hurt Macarena before, most of the time intending to kill her as he assumed. Also, she must have been the least harmless looking person at the moment especially with a bruised face and bloody clothes to top it all. 

“And why would I do that,” she asked with a calm voice, actually trying not to scare him. 

“I don’t know,” came his reply with a shrug. He was averting his eyes, more focused on his shoes. 

“Look, boy, what’s your name again?”

She watched as he suddenly raised his head, looking at her intently. The eye contact problem was seemed to be solved. “I’m Cepo,” he said excitedly, closing the distance between them with big strides. Standing on the balls of his feet and looking at her with a toothy smile Zulema couldn’t help but smile in return, just a little.

“Look Cepo,” she started, “our precious blonde is in the bathroom taking her fucking sweet time. I didn’t kill her nor beat her or whatever you think I did. Although I tried a few times but it’s all in the past, we kiss and makeup and some bullshit like that”

Cepo took his time weighing her words, casting a hesitating glance towards her. Zulema tried smiling lightly in hopes that it would be enough to convince Cepo. She watched as Cepo took a deep breath, his chest visibly expanding and took a step closer. 

“Can I see her?”

“Fine,” Zulema shrugged her shoulders and gestured him to come inside. At this point, she could wear pink clothes and act like a fucking princess but Cepo would still worry about the possibility of her hurting Macarena.

Cepo shook his head quickly, the strings attached to the brown hat swinging around. He raised his hands between them and took a step back, “No I’ll stay here.”

A small movement on the stair gap caught her attention. “Cepo I did not have the best night and I’m not a morning person if you know what I mean. So come inside before I drag you,” she pinched her nose, already picturing a nosy neighbor listening through the floors. This was the last thing she needed, gossip, when she had to stay on the low for at least a week without raising any suspicion. The longer the boy stayed outside the door and occasionally raised his voice like a scared puppy, the more intrigued people would be by the stranger on the “nice-looking blonde’s house.” 

“No, no I’ll stay here. I’ll wait until Maca comes.”

“For God’s sake…”

She dragged him inside before the neighbor could listen to their conversation any longer, closing his mouth with her hand and using his body to slam the door. She waited for a second listening to any signs of commotion from outside, whether somebody would come down and see what the noise was about. Sensing Cepo whimper underneath her hold, she relaxed a little making sure she didn’t look angry.

“Calm down. I might have psychopathic tendencies but you are definitely not my type. I let you in so you can see Maca. Okay?”

Cepo nodded his head slowly, still trembling. She rested her head on the door, trying to hear better. A loud child’s scream echoed from a flat down the hall followed by an even louder scream from the mom. No sound of footsteps. She looked back at Cepo, who upon the eye contact closed his eyes immediately. “Well”, she thought, “so much for treating him nicely.”

“If you stayed any longer in front of the door someone would notice and I don’t want people to get suspicious. Okay?”

Cepo nodded again, still trembling with closed eyes. For the last time, she checked the hall outside through the peephole, relaxing when there was no trace of annoying neighbors.

“Now, Cepo,” she squeezed her hand on his mouth, “I’m gonna take my hand off and you’re gonna be a good boy and not make a sound. Okay?”

Cepo nodded again, opening her eyes. She smiled and took off her hand, wiping it on her dirty pants to get rid of the saliva. Finally free, Cepo immediately hurried towards the other corner of the entrance, far away from the brunette. 

“You’re really scary,” he said out of breath, holding his chest and looking around ready to escape if she tried to hold him again. Zulema couldn’t help but feel bad upon seeing the panic state Cepo seemed to get into. She probably shouldn’t have touched him, respecting his space or something but if it wasn’t for that woman, or man she didn’t know, who suddenly decided it was a good idea to eavesdrop she wouldn’t drag him inside like a kidnapper pulling a pedestrian inside the car. Despite her appearance and behavior towards him, she was glad he still hadn’t screamed or run away. 

“Can I see Maca now?”

Zulema chuckled, exasperated, and screamed causing Cepo to jump. 

“Macarena, get your ass out of that shower before your pretty boy calls the cops on me thinking I’m stashing your body somewhere.” She turned back to Cepo, grinning, “not that I didn’t think about it before.”

“Macarena!”

The sound of the water stopped, followed by a loud yanking of the door and a few curses. Macarena emerged around the corner with a not so big towel wrapped around her naked body, water dripping from her blond locks. Perplexed would have been one way to describe the younger woman, looking back and forth between the cornered Cepo and the smiling brunette. Zulema took a deep mocking breath, opening her arms, “Finally! Calm this one down before he has a heart attack.” She winked at Cepo before smirking towards the blonde purposely checking her body. Macarena rolled her eyes and raised a brow, daring her to do more than looking. Acknowledging the challenge, Zulema bit her teeth and passed her, not hesitating to grunt like an aroused old man, an action she knew would not only annoy the blonde but also humor her. A fact which would annoy her even more.

Hearing the footsteps become distant Macarena turned towards Cepo who now looked more relaxed, standing in the corner of the entrance.

“What happened?”

“I thought she tried to hurt you and you beat her.”

Macarena was about to answer with a soft laugh when Zulema’s own laugh came from near the bathroom, “Hah, in her dreams!”

“Zulema,” she screamed back not only as a warning to stop messing with the scared man but also to stop the brunette before she went into the bathroom.

“What,” Zulema hollered, making the blonde sigh. She thought the brunette had wanted to stay discreet but with all the screaming she was curious how nobody had knocked on her door demanding some answeres they certainly had no reason to know.

“Wait for me before going in the shower!”

“For what? I’m not gonna be the Rizos of your shower fantasies.”

“For your bandages you bitch.”

“Fine, send the boy away, I’m not gonna wait for so long.”

She turned back to Cepo ready to say something when a voice inside her mind, too loud and bossy for her liking, ordered her to fire a retort at Zulema just for implying she would ever fantasize about them together. The audacity.

“For your information, I don’t have shower fantasies. And even if I did you wouldn’t be in them.”

She could swear she heard Zulema snicker, swear she could see the amused smirk on her face.

“Yeah whatever fits you.”

Macarena huffed at the answer and turned back to Cepo who looked back at her with a shocked expression. “Wouldn’t blame you,” Macarena thought, “you’d have to spend a good few years in Cruz to be anything else but shocked.” She dragged her fingers through her hair, trying to comb the wet locks the best way she could. The last thing she would want was to be standing naked with a towel in front of Cepo but thanks to Zulema, this was what she had to do now. Apparently. 

“Hi Cepo, sorry, how are you?”

“I’m fine Maca. I brought your groceries.” 

Cepo smiled, pointing the two bags on the ground. Both of them looked like they were thrown there rather than being put, a cartoon of milk way over near the door of the kitchen. Normally she would chastise him for putting them away like that, some eggs could get broken you know, but she opted to stay silent for only this time, the man looked already traumatized from whatever odd exchange he had with Zulema. 

Instead, Macarena grabbed the money from her bag on the rack near the door and thanked him, making sure the small towel didn’t expose anything when she reached out. 

Cepo grabbed the money and put it in his pocket, looking towards the hall where Zulema had disappeared minutes ago. 

“Your friend is scary.”

Macarena smiled, looking at the empty hall almost like she could see Zulema materialize in front of her in her yellow uniform, scaring the newcomers in the prison. In a way, Cepo was the perfect example of a newcomer, naive and innocent. Macarena wanted to laugh at the irony. Once upon a time she too was a newcomer scared shitless from the woman with crazy black hair and her intimidating friend. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“I know, you get used to her with time.”

Finding her answer somewhat encouraging Cepo took a step forward, moving away from the corner he seemed to take shelter at.

“Why does she look like _that?_ ”

Macarena didn’t know which part of her look Cepo was asking. Was it the hair, the eyes, the tattoo? Or the bruises, the rips in the clothes, the blood? Sometimes she wondered if it was only her that felt captivated by Zulema, not the Zulema Zahir but _Zulema_ , the woman beyond all the evil and psychopathic plans. People were either so busy being scared of her or hating her that she had become this evil figure capable of intimidating you even when you only looked at her. And how long one could look at her, really look at her to observe herself for who she was, if all they felt towards her was fear. What she felt towards Zulema, in all honesty, was more than fear. She had feared Zulema when she needed to, but she also knew when to not fear the woman. Although she was the most unpredictable person she ever met, still she knew or at least hoped she knew how far she could go and sometimes how far she couldn’t. The tattoo was undeniably a blaring reminder. So she didn’t know why she looked like _that_. Like the strongest person that ever existed but weak in the face of her own mind. Mentally shaking her head, she pushed the thoughts away, feeling as though if she thought about Zulema any longer the dream she was trying so hard to ignore would show its face from the depths of her mind, accommodated by emotions she would rather not welcome in front of Cepo.

“She got into a fight,” she said, pulling the towel closer, her body missing the warmth of the shower and reminding her that she’s indeed very much naked. 

“Does she do that all the time?”

“Only when it’s necessary I guess,” she huffed, ignoring the voice in her mind telling her maybe it was necessary for her to get herself beaten on purpose this time. After all, wasn’t it her that claimed the brunette had gotten herself beaten for an ulterior motive, whether it was to come to her house or something else Macarena was yet to discover in a heartbreaking betrayal in the future. Zulema wasn’t called a scorpion for nothing anyway. 

“I thought she hurt you.”

“No I’m fine, don’t worry,” she comforted him, touched by his concern. Behind the freak everybody claimed he was, Macarena knew he was a sweet person. 

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thank you Cepo I appreciate your concern.”

Cepo looked back at the hall again, causing Macarena to frown. 

“Should I bring more groceries next week? For her too?”

“Yes, I think so,” she answered scratching her head. They had never talked about how long Zulema would stay over but considering they were crime partners now, like Bonnie and Clyde a voice reminded her, and the older woman kept avoiding to talk about where and how she lived at all costs, Macarena guessed she could have some extra groceries. The money wouldn’t be an issue anymore since Zulema would come up with a plan soon. She always did. 

Cepo gave her a short “okay,” and went for the door, getting ready to leave. A sudden thought crossed her mind.

“Cepo?”

“Yes?”

“Can you bring apples tomorrow? A kilo or two would be enough I think.”

“But you hate apples.”

“I know but Zulema really likes them so please bring them tomorrow.” She adjusted the towel, like what she had said had exposed her beyond a piece of clothing could protect her. Suddenly she didn’t want to have this conversation with Cepo or stand in her entrance half-naked for God’s sake. Cepo took a little paper and pen from his other pocket, scribbling down while he repeated “apples” quietly like a mantra. She relaxed as he put the paper away and reached out to the door, but it was short-lived as he let it go and turned around. 

“Maca can I ask something?”

“Of course Cepo,” she huffed ready for him to leave. Yes, she treated him nicely and was proud of it but she did have limits too. 

“Do you like her?”

The question took her by surprise, in which she couldn’t help but ask to be sure, “Who? Zulema?”

“Yes.”

Did she _like_ Zulema? She didn’t know. She knew she hated the woman. Despised her even. She knew she was scared of the woman but not intimidated. She knew she pitied her for things she was incapable of feeling. At the same time, there were feeling she didn’t know why she felt. She didn’t know why she felt sorry for her grief when she had caused her to miscarry. She didn’t know why she felt sad when she had seen her sitting alone with ruined mascara the day Sole had died. She certainly didn’t know why she felt scared when she had seen her held down by the guard over the table, with Sandoval up on her face. 

“She’s… an old friend. I tolerate her.”

Upon her answer, Cepo smiled a little and she couldn’t help but wonder where the sudden question had come from. Had Zulema said something to make Cepo ask that? Had she implied anything, anything, that would mean she liked her? 

“Why did you ask?”

“You look at her like Samuel looks at Alba, and Samuel would buy lilies for Alba too cause she liked them even though he hates flowers. He’s allergic to pollen.”

To say that she was confused would be an understatement. She didn’t know what Cepo was talking about, she didn’t even know who Alba or Samuel was. From the looks, whoever they were, Cepo liked them very much and was highly glad that somebody had asked a question relating to them.

“I don’t understand Cepo, sorry. Who’s Alba and Samuel?”

“They’re the characters in ‘Hate to Love You,’” Cepo answered quickly a wide grin on his face. Macarena frowned, trying to recollect the name but failing.

“In what?”

“In ‘Hate to Love You,’ the show on Fox every Thursday. You never heard of it?”

“Oh, no it’s been a long time since I watched tv,” she said shaking her head. She wanted to slap her face but restrained, that would definitely be rude. She knew Cepo was obsessed with tv shows, always talking about them and boring people beyond imagination. 

“You should watch it. It’s about two neighbors who don’t like each other but they have to live together. They’re so cute I hope they start dating in the season finale.”

A loud alarm went off in her head. “Oh no. No I think you have the wrong idea. I don’t like Zulema that way Cepo,” she continued panicked, “I actually hate her.” She tightened the towel for the millionth of time. “I mean I’m sure she hates me too cause, like, a lot happened you know...”

Cepo frowned, opening his mouth but Macarena cut him off, not ready to hear whatever he was about to say.

“Probably more than how those two characters hate each other. We really don’t… Like… No! Love? Absolutely no!”

She shook her head frantically, feeling like a mess with each word she couldn’t seem to stop coming out of her mouth. She could call Zulema an old friend, sure, but love? Fucking no. She didn’t know what was up with the universe but it was really testing her for the last twenty-four hours and she was not happy. Not at all.

“Oh. Sorry, Maca I just thought maybe you liked her cause you look at her like Samuel does,” Cepo apologized quietly ashamed from her sudden outburst.

“Nope,” Macarena quickly shook her head again, opening the door and staying behind it to cover herself from being seen, ”sorry to disappoint Cepo.”

Getting the message Cepo walked outside stopping in front of the door. 

“It’s okay. My mom always says life isn’t like tv anyway,” she nodded at him without listening, in hopes he would leave quicker.

”She says that bad guys don’t care and aren’t actually nice and people that hate each other don’t fall in love. Because love is supposed to make you happy and you should feel like you need to protect people you love and if you hate someone you wouldn’t care if they are hurt.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, her fake smile frozen. 

“Goodbye Maca, I’ll bring the apples tomorrow.”

Oblivious to her state, Cepo waved her goodbye and skipped down the stairs, humming a song that suspiciously sounded like a television show intro. Macarena didn’t try to identify which show it was or if she knew the song at all. What Cepo had said, or his mother, was true to its extent. Love was supposed to be pure and you’d protect the ones you loved. Lying to your mom about going to jail was a form of protection, lying to your dad that you were fine, trying to kill someone to avenge your niece, snitching on your “girlfriend” for selling drugs… They were all examples of protection Macarena had done to protect the ones she loved. Then what was she doing, now, taking care of a wounded Zulema, convincing the brunette to take her with herself to whatever dangerous plan she conspired, worrying about the possibility that she might try and get herself killed?

“No,” she thought, “it’s not love.” And they sure as hell weren’t some neighbors annoyed with each other for the most unnecessary things. They were Maca and Zulema. She had given the brunette a heart attack and the brunette had killed her son. This wasn’t a fucking show where enemies fell in love. It was real life. Cepo was right after all. Bad people didn’t change and Zulema wasn’t the only bad in this story. Both of them were. She slammed the door and leaned on it, a shiver running down her arms. 

But wasn’t this already different? Weren’t they supposed to be dead? Both of them by the hands of the other as promised years ago with tears and blood?

“Maca, how much longer am I supposed to wait bitch?”

She jumped with the sudden scream, her towel escaping from her death grip and falling down, the cold biting her exposed skin like a sharp answer. 

What if she had already changed? What if they both had?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note: The show, "Hate to Love You" only exist in this universe I created and it will come up in the next chapter so stay tuned lol.
> 
> Now, A HUGE shoutout to all the kind people that checked on me through here and Tumblr. I’m so glad I have y’all as my readers and you claimed this fic as much as I did. I promise there won’t be any more delays like that, at least this long. Thank you so much for the continuous support you have been showing with kudos and comments, reading your reactions and feelings are always a delight. As I always say every time I read a comment I want to hug y’all through my small computer from probably miles away. 
> 
> A last reminder, I have a Tumblr account that I don't post at often but actively use. So if you guys have any questions about the story or the upcoming chapters, recommendations, feedback, advice, or hell I don't know a storyline that would be cool to read don't hesitate to message me @supremesepta. Some of you did ask me about the update during my hiatus and your messages were the sole motivation for this chapter. Also, if you liked this chapter please take a few moments to press the kudos button and leave a comment so I can know how you feel about this chapter or the story. Lastly, remember to take care of your health during this extraordinary time. XOXO


	5. Author's Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Apology and A Promise?

Hola people, it's your girl here.

I KNOW, I must be the most annoying, the most frustrating, and the worst writer a reader can like. 

I definitely do not deserve your kind words, your kudos, and your loyalty as a writer with the way I've been unprofessionally ghosting this work which you have all come to love. 

From the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for making you upset or giving you the idea that a work you liked, a work you waited to be updated was left incomplete. I'm sorry if I disappointed you. I am certainly disappointed in myself with how I handled this work, to be frank. But I want you guys to know, although there was a lack of response AND writing, I was always here, reading your nice comments and trying to get back into a better state of mind. 

You see, the last day I updated, July 8th, someone important to me died, and although I was not very close to her like I was once upon a time, I still cherished every memory with her. In addition to that, I learned that Naya Rivera had gone missing, again someone I liked from a time in the past, and I don't know if you kept up with that but soon after I also learned she had passed away. So the rest of the summer, for me, was filled with grief, to say the least. And after school started I buried myself in my schoolwork to be distracted and it worked but this time I could not find any free time to write.

Sorry if this feels too personal, or just a straight-up rant. I realized a lot of you were worried about me and on top of preventing you from reading a story you like I would hate to make you worry about me so I felt obligated to bring light to why I was MIA.

As you can maybe guess or feel, I am much better. I also happen to finally have a three-week break from school which gives me all the time to write again. I'm halfway done with the next chapter and I promise you I'll finish it on Wednesday or by Thursday at the latest. 

So if you're still there, thanks for sticking by.  
If you forgot this story or lost all hope in it, hello, I'm back, we're good, come back, we miss you. (By we I mean me, my other personalities, and this story lol)  
And if you got into this fandom after the last time I updated or you are just now becoming aware of this story, welcome, you're down for a big ride. 

I suggest you, my old readers, reread the story and get ready for the new update.   
I missed you guys so much. You've been my rock during this hard year and I couldn't ask for better readers.

But most importantly I missed this fandom and my two crazy babies.   
You bet I missed writing them too.

Buckle up, I'm back and I've got like 6 chapters already planned, I'm not abandoning this ship nor will I leave you hanging like that ever again.

Thank you so much for bearing with me at my lowest. I love you all.


	6. Strange Territory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are no strangers to bathrooms and naked women. But maybe some things have changed quietly, without any of them noticing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola people I'm back. I KNOW, that this chapter, considering the previous ones, is shorter but I really wanted to give you guys a sign of life at least :) So here you go, I hope you like this little chapter and like the fact that I'm indeed back in action.

Macarena hastily put her wet hair in a bun, pulling the slightly damp collar of her t-shirt to cover her bra. Not that she minded if Zulema saw her bra, she had seen her without it after all, but there was just something about not being in Cruz, something in the words of intimacy, that made Macarena feel that if Zulema were to see her bra, her skin, a little too much cleavage here, a little defined curve there, it would not be the same. That it would not _feel_ the same. She fumbled with her zipper, just to make sure, and pushed the bathroom door open, ready to hear an earful from Zulema about how long she kept her waiting. Instead, she was caught off guard, for the second time today, at the sight of Zulema in her bloody jeans sitting in Macarena’s pink stool, with her naked back towards her.

“You could’ve waited for me to help you with the shirt,” she managed to say, trying to avoid looking at the brunette’s back. It was not something she hadn’t seen just like how Zulema had seen her. But the weird feeling was still there inside her as if she was invading her privacy as if this moment right here meant something. That whatever fucked up feeling she was struggling with deemed this moment vulnerable, made it rare. 

Zulema huffed and slouched a little more on the stool, “Yeah, I’m not giving you the pleasure to undress me blondie.”

“Here,” Macarena sat on the edge of her tiny tub, and pulled the stool’s leg toward her, catching Zulema off guard. She carefully touched the brunette’s naked side, right under her rib where it had survived the attack miraculously unscathed, and shifted her to prevent the woman from falling. The bandages she had put on 8 hours ago had lost their white color, some of them a yellowish-brown from the dirt of her t-shirt, some of it already covered in blood. Macarena sighed and gently grabbed the edge of a better-looking bandage on Zulema’s shoulder, ignoring how the woman’s skin was hot beneath her fingertips and how she had flinched with the contact. 

“Lean a little bit forward so I can take them off,” she whispered softly, wadding up the bloody cotton into a ball and throwing it away to a corner of her bathroom. She pulled the corner of the big bandage on her neck, one of the worsts, the already scarlet bandage harder to pull away, the blood making it stickier. Macarena feared she would hurt her, as if Zulema, the elf from the fucking hell to be precise, was a delicate flower that she could accidentally pluck from its soil when all she wanted was to touch it. 

“These look bad Zulema.”

“I had worse,” the woman grumbled, her words muffled beneath the hands covering her face. 

“I know,” she nodded even though she knew Zulema wouldn’t be able to see, but nevertheless hoping that the brunette would hear the sincerity in her voice, the undeniable respect she had for the woman after all the physical pain she had gone through, even though some of them were a result of her own actions. She removed the last bandage, without any reaction from Zulema which she hoped was a good sign. 

“I’ll put some waterproof bandage on,” she said to her, standing up to reach the cupboard near the mirror, “it should keep them dry,” she added, taking the new bandages out of the kit without turning around. If she did, regardless of her crouching, she knew she would see Zulema’s breasts, and that was the last thing she would need as if she already didn’t feel awkward enough. She quickly closed the cupboard door, wincing at the sound, and returned to her previous position at the edge of her tub. 

Upon hearing another muffled “Good,” from Zulema, she cleared her throat and started putting on the already cut bandages, noting the lack of flinch or wince this time. After finishing the last one, she tapped the brunette on her shoulder, the woman already standing up with unexpected agility Macarena thought she was not capable of, considering how bad her back was. 

With Zulema standing naked in front of her, Macarena was now able to fully see the Arabic tattoo that adorned Zulema’s side, right where she had touched minutes ago to steady her. She had known Zulema’s body like the back of her hand before the big gap in their lives where Zulema apparently had gone through hell while she lied in a hospital bed alone, but thanks to that gap, now the woman standing in her bathroom had tattoos and wounds she didn’t know, some visible, some not even Zulema could see. 

Upon feeling her piercing gaze the brunette stopped taking off her pants, a weak attempt at it anyway, and turned slightly towards the blonde. Coming face to face with the now exposed breasts of Zulema, Macarena immediately turned her head to the wall as if suddenly her bathroom tiles held the secret of life. She could only hope her cheeks would not betray her by turning into a different color. She felt terrible for being caught on by Zulema like she was a creepy boy in his puberties, but then again she also felt terrible that all of a sudden seeing _that_ woman’s naked body made her feel ashamed. 

She bit her lip and closed her eyes, giving herself three seconds to pull it together. She didn’t know what was wrong with her but it better had to do with the lack of sleep she had gotten because this was not how she was going to be in the foreseeable future. Hell no. 

“Call me if you need help or when you’re done so I can change them again.”

She saw Zulema nodding from the corner of her eye, still refusing to turn around. She exhaled with a quick “Okay,” and opened the door, stopping just momentarily before leaving the woman alone.

“I’ll leave some clean clothes for you on your bed. They should fit you since you’re… you know… smaller.”

She hoped that would not offend the brunette because God knows everything had a way of getting on her nerves but honestly she couldn’t care how Zulema would react at this point. She just wanted to get out of the bathroom and escape the suddenly heavy hair that suffocated her. 

“Maca?”

She cursed under her breath with her hand on the doorknob, she was _this_ close, and parted the door slightly, finding Zulema’s eyes, and blocking the rest.

“Thank you,” Zulema replied with a small smile, one of the most genuine ones Macarena had ever seen that did not resemble a smirk. She stood stuck as Zulema walked out of her view from the slight opening of the door towards the tub followed by the sound of water but her brain was refusing to close the door as if the very same bathroom that was suffocating her seconds ago was suddenly just a bathroom. Only with Zulema in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE shoutout to all the kind people that checked on me through here and Tumblr. I’m so glad I have y’all as my readers and you claimed this fic as much as I did. Your comments help me get through what I think was one of the hardest years in my life. I feel blessed to have such sweet people as my readers. Every time I read a comment I want to hug y’all through my small computer from probably miles away.
> 
> A last reminder, I have a Tumblr account that I don't post at often but actively use. So if you guys have any questions about the story or the upcoming chapters, recommendations, feedback, advice, or hell I don't know a storyline that would be cool to read don't hesitate to message me @supremesepta. Also, if you liked this chapter please take a few moments to press the kudos button and leave a comment so I can know how you feel about this chapter or the story. Lastly, remember to take care of your health during this extraordinary time. XOXO


End file.
